Just a Tool
by dysprositos
Summary: Dr. Bruce Banner has an unorthodox way of stifling his emotions. It's not a problem. But it might become one. Add in an alien invasion and a megalomaniacal demigod, and it definitely will. Warnings inside.
1. Just a Tool

I'm self-conscious about posting this. I don't write "serious" things, and so this was hard for me. Please keep that in mind before you review.

I'm not very familiar with Bruce Banner/the Hulk beyond what I've seen in the movies, so I've taken liberties with the character. Vast liberties.

Trigger warning for self-injury.

**8-28-12: This story is now complete. There are a few things I want to put up here now that it's done.**

**1. This story contains no sex and no romance. Writing romance gives me anxiety. **

**2. Despite the lack of sex, the M rating holds, mostly for thematic elements. This is not a happy story. There is no fluff, no fuzzy warmth, and no happy ending.**

**3. There _is_ a sequel. It is called "Cause and Effect," and will be coming during the first or second week of September.**

**Thanks for reading!**

* * *

Dr. Bruce Banner was not accustomed to people...caring.

Indeed, it had been so long since anyone had that the possibility no longer registered in his mind.

Living alone in the third world, his existence had been quite selfish. Not in a bad way, but in an I-only-have-to-think-about-myself kind of way. Although the solitude was oppressive and, at times, suffocating, it was also freeing in a way. Certainly, it was easier, not having to think about how his actions would affect the people around him.

Well, aside from focusing on avoiding turning into a giant green catastrophe.

Avoiding the Other Guy was, of course, ever present in his mind. That was the _macro _level. On a _micro _level he was selfish. After being so alone for so long, he just didn't think about other people. They didn't register.

Which is why, when he heard the lab door sliding open behind him, he didn't immediately stop what he was doing.

But then:

"What the _fuck _are you doing?"

That stopped him.

It occurred to him, then, that his current actions could possibly be interpreted as "completely fucking crazy." That wasn't the case, though; he could explain.

"Tony, I can explain this," he said, calmly. Tony, however, was not calm. At all.

"Can you really? Because, to me, it looks like you're trying to break your fucking arm."

Bruce considered that. He could understand how it looked, but really, Tony of all people should know about the strength of bone and the force required to damage it. Unless you applied torsion, then it wouldn't take much because bones-long bones at least-weren't meant to move that way...

Tony was still looking at him expectantly, wearing an expression that fell somewhere between anger and concern. Bruce realized he hadn't started speaking yet.

"Okay," he began. "I'm sure you know about endorphins..."

* * *

It was something he'd discovered after breaking Harlem.

He'd returned from working at his current menial job in his current third world country and found that his hovel (he hesitated to call it his home) had been ransacked and more-or-less destroyed. Bruce was not overly attached to material things-after all, he was living in a hovel in a third world country. He was, however, attached to his laptop, which was now missing. Oh, wait, not missing. In pieces, on the floor. Shit. Contained on that laptop was all of his notes and research on his condition. Of course, Bruce wasn't a moron-he had saved backups of his work, but losing his laptop was still a huge blow. He lived in a _hovel_ in a _third world country_. Where was he going to get a new one?

He began to feel angry.

Looking at the mess of broken glass and other detritus littering this once-neat, organized area, he began to feel more angry.

His clothes had been ripped out of the closet and strewn across the floor. And...what was that smell? Urine? Had they seriously pissed on his stuff? Who _does_that?

His vision was tinged with green.

He knew this was dangerous territory. His heart was beating too fast and he needed to calm the fuck down. _It's just stuff, it's just stuff, it's just stuff_he thought, closing his eyes, breathing deeply and focusing on slowing his pulse.

After a moment, feeling calmer, he opened his eyes.

And noticed the creative graffiti that covered the walls of his living space. The word "vulgar" did not quite begin to encompass the elaborate murals that he was now blessed with. Van Gogh had nothing on the mastery of these artists.

With a growl, unthinking, he whirled and punched the wall-decorated with something that resembled a six-legged penis-as hard as he could. The pain was intense, and there was panic, _fuckfuckfuck this is it I'm going to change jesus fucking christ _and the Other Guy was shifting under his skin, and then-

There was nothing.

He opened his eyes, expecting to be standing amidst the wreckage of the village, wearing only the shredded remains of his oddly resilient and modesty-maintaining pants. He was indeed standing in wreckage, but it was his hovel, his broken laptop, his pissed-on things. He hadn't blacked out, hadn't moved, had, in fact, only closed his eyes for a moment.

_What the hell?_

Bruce shook his head, dazed. Had he just gotten immensely lucky, or was something else at play?

He thought about it for a few days, while he cleaned up his hovel and set things back to rights. Eventually, he thought he had it figured out.

When injured, the body releases endorphins. Endorphins are also released during exercise (and orgasm). These chemicals cause feelings of euphoria and exhilaration. The way Bruce figured, by punching the wall and injuring his body, he had caused a release of endorphins, which had in turn created a rush of pleasure that short-circuited the rage and left him feeling calm and...empty.

He thought it was strange. He had been injured before, and it had triggered a transformation, not halted one. But then, many of those incidents had involved him being shot at or otherwise antagonized. Perhaps there was a threshold of panic and rage that endorphins could not overcome? It sort of made sense. Right?

He made a note to himself to test his theory...as soon as he got a new laptop.

* * *

Tony was still staring at him, for once at a loss for words.

"So," Bruce finished, "it's a way to deal with things before they get out of control. I can just stop my emotions when I need to, and avoid a lot of the danger. Of course, it's not perfect, and if someone shoots at me I'm still pretty much fucked, but it's helped me out at least as much as all the yoga and meditation I've done over the years."

There was a pause. Then:

"Dr. Banner," Tony began, finally finding his voice, "that is _so_fucked up."

That was not quite the response Bruce had been expecting.

"No, Tony, it's really not. It's all quite rational, scientific even. The Other Guy needs to stay controlled, and it helps. What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong? What's wrong is that I walked through that door and saw you engaging in some kind of masochistic self-abuse _thing_." Tony grabbed Bruce's arm and yanked his shirtsleeve up. A large bruise was forming on his arm, just above the wrist bones, where he had a moment ago been banging it against the corner of the lab table. Several other bruises, mostly faded, were visible, going up his arm and disappearing under his shirt. "This is not normal, Bruce. This is self-injury, and you shouldn't be doing this to yourself-"

Bruce cut him off. "Tony, I'm not some 16-year-old with emotional problems. This is just a tool, that's all, and I've got it under control."

Tony quirked an eyebrow. "Just a tool, huh? What do you think it is for the 16-year-olds with emotional problems?"

Bruce found he didn't have a good answer.

* * *

There's a possibility for a second chapter to this, but I'm not going to commit to it (since that will guarantee it will never happen...).


	2. The Mustard Conundrum

This addition officially makes this my first multi-chapter story.

I changed the rating on this from T to M, if only for my continued (and perhaps excessive) use of the word "fuck," which some people may take issue with.

* * *

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he glanced at it and saw he had a new e-mail. Since he was sitting at his computer (and had been, for hours), he decided to pull it up there. His phone may have been designed by Tony Stark himself, and it might feature all the finest hardware and software available (and some that wasn't, just yet), but a 5-inch screen was still a 5-inch screen. He hated squinting.

He sighed when he saw that the message was from Tony.

But he opened it anyway.

_Hey Bruce,_ it said. _Thought you might find this interesting. TS._

It was a link.

He clicked on it, and heaved another sigh, accompanied with an eye-roll, when he found himself on a support message board for people who self-harmed. It was the third such website Tony had sent him that day. He wasn't sure if Stark was mocking him, or if he legitimately thought he was being helpful. His past experience with people led him to believe the former; however, Tony Stark was so unpredictable that his past experience may well have no bearing at all.

Bruce shook his head and closed out the window. He had work to do.

* * *

Six hours (had it really been six hours? Really? He'd meant to stop at 10:00) later, Bruce realized that his current line of research was going nowhere. He had missed dinner and had reached a level of hunger at which his arm was looking appetizing. The combination of that and hours of staring at a computer screen had resulted in a headache of truly epic proportions. Popping a couple Tylenol (and wondering when Excedrin would be back on the shelves) he turned out the lights in his lab and headed to the kitchen.

He was surprised-well, perhaps not surprised, more like profoundly disheartened-to see that the lights were on in the kitchen. The now-and-again residents of Stark Tower were not renowned for their normal sleep habits, and so it could have been any of them, but as far as Bruce knew there was only one other person residing at the Tower currently. And that one other person suffered infamously from insomnia.

"Good morning, Bruce," Tony greeted him. He was seated at the island in the middle of the kitchen, eating chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream straight from the container with what looked to be a mixing spoon and playing some game (were those Smurfs?) on his tablet. Bruce felt that "good morning" ought to be reserved for actual mornings, the kind that occurred after sleeping, and not for people slouching into the kitchen at 3:30 in the morning for a snack. Nevertheless, he returned the greeting.

Tony took an obscenely large bite of ice cream and chewed loudly. He swallowed, and then asked, "Did you get my e-mail?"

Bruce sighed. He'd found himself doing that a lot recently. He made a mental note to look into reasons for increased sighing. He suspected immense, unending frustration and annoyance might be the cause, but it wouldn't do to overlook something physiological.

"I think you mean e-mails. Plural. Numerous. And yes, I got them," he replied.

"Did you _read _them?"

"Of course I did." And that was true. He had definitely read the e-mails.

"Did you read the _links_?"

Shit.

"Not...exactly. I opened them, though."

Tony rolled his eyes. Bruce took that as a "win." Not that this was a competition. He moved to the fridge and started digging out the fixings for a killer sandwich. Unlike some _other _people, he couldn't subsist entirely on carbohydrates and saturated fat. The idea actually made him a little nauseous.

He was trying to differentiate between 4 different kinds of mustard when Tony spoke again.

"Look, it's just, after what you said on the SHIELD helicarrier...I'm just worried, and it's not like that's really all that strange, is it? I mean I'm not exactly known for being all caring or whatever, but I'm not completely selfish, well, okay, I'm pretty selfish and I'm sure you noticed that. Who hasn't? I'm pretty sure if you polled most people on the street, they'd agree that I'm pretty goddamn selfish. And self-absorbed. And kind of oblivious to other people. But, the point is-"

This was becoming physically exhausting to listen to. Bruce interrupted. "Are you going to get to the point for real, or just keep rambling...forever?"

"Hey, I was almost to the point. No need to get so snippy, jeez. The point is, you put a bullet in your mouth, and that's not something normal, healthy people do. So don't try and tell me you're normal and healthy and you don't have a problem and don't act like I'm blowing this completely out of proportion."

Bruce was not in the mood to hash this out. It was almost 4:00 in the morning, and he still hadn't decided which mustard he wanted, and his head was killing him and talking to Tony was challenging on a good day. Also, the possibility of a connection between his "stress relief" and his suicide attempt(s) was not something he was prepared to, at this particular moment, discredit. Although it certainly seemed ridiculous.

"Can we...not do this right now? I need to pick a mustard and go to bed."

Tony snorted. "Yeah, right, that's _exactly _what you need to do.

Bruce felt a flash of irritation.

"You know," he said, "it's awfully rich, coming from you, all this stuff about 'normal' and 'healthy,' since you flew a nuke into outer space, and never sleep, and get all your nutrients from ice cream and liquor. I don't think you have a lot of authority on the subject."

Tony took this in stride, being well versed in his own faults. "But everyone knows I'm like that. I think my file used the phrase 'explosively self-destructive.' Seemed a little hyperbolic to me, but whatever. You're secretive, though. So no one's watching you. And if you do something stupid and self-destructive no one will be looking and that's dangerous. You need people to watch out for you, Bruce, since you're too fucking stupid to do it yourself."

Bruce took exception to that.

"Oh, and are you going to take on that responsibility? Do you really think it's your business? No, really. Enlighten me. In what universe is it your business? I'm an adult, it's my body, and it's not like it's dangerous. They're just bruises, Tony, it's not important. Can't you just...drop it?"

Tony Stark did not just "drop" things.

Still, he decided to leave this battle for another day. He still had a slew of links to send Bruce, after all, and it wasn't like the physicist was going anywhere, anyway. He had time, resources, and a limitless supply of that Tony Stark charm. It would be okay.

Tony watched as Bruce slathered his bread with four kinds of mustard and sloppily added meat, cheese, and vegetables. He took his (disturbing) creation and, with a parting glare at Tony, stalked from the room.

Tony yelled after him, "You know, Bruce, there're better ways to release endorphins!"

Without turning, Bruce made a rude gesture and slipped from view.

_Yeah_, Tony thought. _He needs someone watching out for him_.

* * *

This might be going somewhere, but I'm not sure yet.


	3. Human Goo Puddles

I can't seem to stop writing this.

Warning for self-injury, "coarse" language, and unprecedented levels of comic book-type campiness.

Also: this ended up being about twice as long as the previous chapters. Oops.

And finally: it occurred to me that I ought to put a disclaimer. So, anything you recognize, I don't own. The mutant wildlife is mine, though, for better or worse.

* * *

A couple of days had passed. It was, once again, the wee hours of the morning and Tony had just finished reading the Wikipedia article on "compartment syndrome." He decided to add it to his list to forward to Bruce. He seemed to think that his "methods" weren't dangerous, but Tony knew (after extensive reading-although he had suspected before) that wasn't true. Plus, the article had a rather graphic picture of a fasciotomy, and he thought that might really help him bring his message home. Tony wasn't particularly squeamish, but he didn't know if Bruce was. He really hoped he was.

It wasn't so much that Tony worried Bruce was going to maim himself. Well, he was worried about that, of course. He was more worried, though, by the apparent lack of concern Bruce felt for his own well-being. His indifference to what happened to his body wasn't normal. "Just bruises," he had said, as if the fact he was quite literally beating himself up didn't matter in the least. Of course, this was coming from someone who had flown a nuclear weapon into outer space, so he _could _understand the hypocrisy. Tony Stark never let a small thing like hypocrisy stand in his way, though.

His ruminating was interrupted a moment later by JARVIS, who informed him that Director Fury was on the phone and most urgently wanted to speak with him. Tony considered ignoring him, because he was busy, damn it, but last time Fury wanted him for something the whole world was in danger. Also, Tony was trying to turn over a new, less-selfish leaf. He decided that he wouldn't fuck with the director and would just take the call. "Okay, JARVIS, connect him."

He wondered briefly if his immensely powerful AI resented being used as an answering machine.

Then the voice of Nick Motherfucking Fury came over the system. "Stark, there's an...incident a few hours outside of the city, we're going to need you to come in."

"Oh, I'm sure you and your fine agents can handle it, darling. Get Katniss to take care of it. I'm busy." Well, he couldn't _entirely_ resist fucking with him. Fury just ignored him, though, acting as if he hadn't spoken at all. _The nerve..._

"Romanoff will be there to pick you up in ten minutes. Bring Banner with you, we need him and he's not answering his goddamn phone."

"Wait, why can't I just fly-" the line went dead. Someone, Tony thought, had to talk to that man about phone etiquette.

* * *

He thought Romanoff might actually kill him.

Instead of taking the 10 minutes he was given and using them to get ready to kick ass and take names, Tony had instead leisurely finished drinking his scotch while checking on his Smurf village (damn that game was addictive). Thus, when she arrived, pounding on his door, he was not in any sense ready to do anything. At 2:30 in the morning, he doubted very much that Bruce was awake and ready to kick ass and take names, either.

He metaphorically patted her on the head (he wouldn't dare to actually touch her) and told her to sit tight while he roused the physicist.

As he headed towards the elevator, he half-expected her to shoot him, or maybe start throwing knives. He resisted looking back over his shoulder. Barely.

As it turned out, Bruce was not in his room. Tony counted his blessings that the other man was, at least, awake. He may yet survive the wrath of Russia.

Unless Bruce was asleep somewhere that _wasn't_his room, in which case he was completely fucked.

His next stop was Bruce's lab. From the hallway, he could tell that the lights were on. That was promising.

Whistling a small tune to celebrate his newfound good fortune, he entered the lab. Just in time to see Bruce slam his fist viciously into the metal table one-two-three times. Tony winced, but now wasn't the time to bring it up. He marveled momentarily at his own self-restraint.

"Come on Banner, duty calls," he said. Bruce jumped about a foot, having not heard Tony enter. He cursed the billionaire for installing those ridiculous, near-silent sliding doors.

"Unless you want to self-flagellate a while longer, then I'm sure the disaster will wait for you to finish up." Well, Tony's self-restraint could only go so far. "Why are you doing that?"

Ignoring Tony's question, Bruce rolled his eyes. "No, I think I'm good." He made a fist and then flexed his hand. There was an audible _crunch_. Tony's stomach turned. So much for not being squeamish.

"What's the disaster?" Bruce asked, as if this were a normal situation.

"No idea, but Romanoff's downstairs, and she's pissed that you're keeping her waiting," Tony replied, letting Bruce off the hook, for now.

Bruce hastily saved whatever he'd been working on and hopped up. "I need to stop in my room, I left my phone. And shoes. I need shoes. Oh fuck it, shoes are probably a waste anyway. Let's go. I don't need my phone either."

Tony snickered, feeling just a touch guilty for the panic he'd caused. "Bruce, it's okay. She's not pissed at you, she's pissed at me because _I'm _keeping her waiting. You're way too...sweet...and...awkward for her to get angry at, she didn't even mind when you nearly smashed her. Bastard."

Bruce did not want to be reminded of that particular incident.

In the end, he did stop for his phone and a pair of those crappy $5 flip flops from Old Navy. He hoped that he wouldn't need to do much running. Or walking. Or anything more than sitting, because _damn _were those uncomfortable. It was better than wasting a decent pair of shoes, though. Maybe.

Once Bruce and Tony had made it to the car, Natasha navigated the city streets like a native New Yorker, and soon they were heading north, away from the city lights. Tony, decided it was time for figure out what the hell was going on.

"So, 'Tasha, where are we going? Are we there yet? What about now, are we there now? Now? Now? Are we there yet?"

Her phone rang.

Completely ignoring Tony (did these SHIELD people realize how annoying that was?) she answered it.

"This is Romanoff." A pause. "Yeah, he just started getting obnoxious about it. Yeah, Banner's here." Then. "Yes, sir. We're about two hours out. Okay. Okay. Yes sir."

She ended the call.

"Okay, here's what going on. We've got a bit of a mutant problem."

Wait, a mutant problem in New York? Tony didn't think that was exactly newsworthy.

She continued, "And it's not what you think. Something has...crashed in the state forest. We're pretty sure it's of extraterrestrial origin. It's emitting high levels of radiation, but we're not sure what kind. It's mutating the wildlife, apparently including the trees, which are now spontaneously combusting. We need to sample the object and then contain the radiation, as well as stop the fire. With Rogers on mission in Europe, it's going to mostly be the two of you. Stark-you're on forest fire duty. There's a town a couple of miles from here, and we'd prefer if it didn't burn to the ground. It would be bad PR."

Tony made an attempt to interrupt, but she just talked louder, drowning him out. He felt a bit like a misbehaving toddler. "Banner, we need you to sample the object. And then contain it. From what we've determined, it's only about the size of a basketball which means it's pumping out a huge amount of energy to do all this damage."

"And you figure it won't kill me? Or rather, it won't kill the Other Guy?"

She nodded. "Your physiology makes you immune to radiation and your rapid healing while in Hulk form makes you pretty damn hard to kill."

"Well, this is a great idea and all, but the Other Guy's not really...capable...of running scientific tests. Or taking samples. Or containing things. He mostly just smashes."

"C'mon, Bruce," said Tony. "That's not true-you saved my life as the Hulk, and didn't smash me at all. I think you have more control than you give yourself credit for."

Bruce thought this was bullshit. He also really hated Tony's habit of referring to the Other Guy as "you."

Luckily, Natasha intervened before Tony could unknowingly shove his foot further into his mouth. "Look, we thought of that. Just take this," she handed him some kind of gadget (gadgets were more of Tony's thing, didn't they know that?), "and get close to the object. It's about a mile further north of here, you won't be able to miss it. That thing will take all the readings we need. As for containment, we've got a receptacle for it. Just get it inside the container, and Tony can make sure it gets back to headquarters."

Bruce thought that was an awful lot to ask of a mindless green rage monster. Tony and Natasha were looking at him like this was a reasonable request, though, so he didn't really have a choice. "I should make you two sign waivers so I can't be held responsible when you both end up as human goo puddles. This is a terrible plan. Is this really the best SHIELD could do?"

Tony reached back from the front seat and clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit, Bruce."

* * *

When they arrived at the scene, Tony wasted no time in getting to work. He still had things to do today (tonight? this morning?)-like make sure his Smurfs were staying on task, the lazy communist bastards. He "slipped" into his suit, as much as anyone can "slip" into something enormously heavy and metallic. He made a few adjustments, and had JARVIS pull up a map of the current fire location.

"I've got chipmunks or some shit to save," he said. "See you guys later." With that, he flew away, quickly working out the calculations and logistics to best contain the forest fire.

That left Bruce standing next to the car with Natasha. Clint walked over from where he was consulting with the DNR, having been previously picking off the dangerously mutated wildlife as it ran from the flames.

"What's up?" he said, addressing Natasha. "Too bad all this shit is mutated and weird, 'cause I wouldn't mind having venison for dinner. Or rabbit. Or maybe chipmunk." Then, to Bruce, "What the fuck happened to your hand?"

Bruce was not expecting to be addressed, and as such had no real response. "Uh...what?" Well, _that_ certainly demonstrated the famous genius of Dr. Bruce Banner. _Nicely done, Banner_, he thought to himself.

"Your hand. It looks broken. What happened?"

Natasha grabbed his arm to look. Even in the rather shoddy lighting, it looked bad; bruised black and blue, with the second, third, and fourth knuckles lost under swelling. "Jesus, Banner, what the hell?"

If Tony's reaction to his stress relief methods was anything to go by, now was not the time for honesty. It was so _hard _dealing with other people. "I, uh, fell." That was lame. Even he knew it.

"Really?" asked Clint. "And what did you punch on the way down? 'Cause that's a boxer's fracture if I ever saw one."

Damn these assassins, did they have to be so _observant_?

Well, yeah, he supposed they kind of did. It was damn inconvenient, though. At least, it was right now.

Bruce was saved from answering by what had at one point been a bobcat. It had apparently gotten a large dose of alien radiation. Normally, bobcats come in at about 20 lbs. This creature was at least six or seven times larger, with a rabid look to it that Bruce did not like at all. Snarling and drooling, it plowed into a group of assembled firefighters and random spectators.

_What the fuck_? Bruce thought. This was straight out of some 1970s comic book. Could any kind of radiation even _do _that?

"Well, fuck," said Clint, and sprinted off to set up a shot.

"Okay," said Natasha. "We need to get a lid on this. That thing was…disturbing." She opened the trunk of the car and pulled out what looked like a large-ish lead box.

"What's that?" Bruce asked.

"A lead box," she replied. "With a few other things built it. It should be able to contain the radiation. If it doesn't, I guess we'll all turn into mutant freaks. Or die. Probably both." She shrugged, and then looked at him expectantly.

Bruce realized she was waiting for him to transform.

"You should...take cover, or something," he said. She made no move to do so. Bruce sighed. And Tony thought _he _was self-destructive.

Bruce reached inside himself to find the pool of ever-present rage that burned deep within his mind. He had tapped into that pool when Loki had attacked Manhattan, transforming at will. It had been easy enough then. The rage was barely contained, straining for release, like molten rock inside a volcano. His anger, carefully contained and carefully cultivated, ready to become a weapon, waiting only for him to let it free.

He closed his eyes, relaxed his rigid control, and let the wave crash over him.

Except.

There was no wave. There was no anger, no rage. Just mild panic and a constant throb of pain running from his fingertips to his elbow.

What the hell?

He took a deep breath and looked inside again. And was again met with quietude and emptiness.

There was a shriek, echoed by a series of gunshots. Bruce's eyes snapped open and he saw that the mutant wildlife situation was becoming a serious hazard. What had only been the occasional mutated animal running out of the forest had become a constant, violent stream. There were too many for Clint to take, and none of the other gun-wielding people standing about was a good enough shot to hit anything in the awful flickering light. Especially something like a 20 lb, rabid squirrel. A pack of which had just emerged from the flames. _This is getting ridiculous_, Bruce thought.

"Sometime this _week_, Dr. Banner!" Natasha snapped.

He could feel his heart rate climbing, but it wasn't fast enough. He just wasn't...feeling...enough.  
That alone should have caused him to panic, but it wasn't. All he could focus on was the pain shooting up his arm from his hand.

Wait.

Pain. It was keeping him grounded. Focused. But he needed the rage right now. Or panic. Or fear, or _something, anything, jesus. _More pain would do it. There was a threshold! Right?

He closed his eyes and then clenched his fist as hard as he could. He felt the bones shift and crunch, and the pain was enormous. He saw a flash of green, but it quickly faded with the endorphin rush. _Fuck!_

"What the _fuck, _Banner!" Natasha yelled. "What are you _waiting _for?"

Bruce opened his eyes and looked at her. He had an idea.

"Agent Romanoff," he said, and wondered at the immensely calm tone of his voice, "I need you to shoot me."

She stared at him.

"I think in the head would be best," he added helpfully.

"..."

"Just...do it, okay? I'll explain later. I promise." He hoped she wouldn't remember to hold him to that.

She pulled a gun out of a holster on her back, still looking at him as though he had gone completely insane. Bruce supposed that was a rational response to his request.

She hesitated.

"Agent Romanoff, I wouldn't ask you to do this if it wasn't necessary. So just do it, please." Still she hesitated. "It's not going to kill me." Nothing. "JUST DO IT!"

Bruce barely saw her move before he heard the gunshot.

And then there was nothing.

* * *

In an odd turn of events, chapter 4 is almost finished.


	4. Hero or Science Project

Warnings: foul language, mention of self-injury, stale donuts.

I own nothing.

* * *

As always, the first thing Bruce became aware of upon regaining consciousness after his transformation was the throbbing headache emanating from somewhere behind his eyes. The second, though, was that he was not lying alone and naked in a field, or in a warehouse, or in a pile of rubble. He was reasonably certain he was in a bed (maybe on a couch?), and he was clothed, and so wasn't this a nice change from how this usually went down?

The third thing he noticed was the distinct feeling of someone staring at him.

Creepy.

Bruce pried his eyes open, and found that he was lying on the couch in Tony's suite. It was so huge and cushy that he wasn't surprised he had thought it was a bed. Tony certainly had interesting (read: ostentatious) taste in furniture. And there, in a huge, cushy recliner directly across from him, was sitting the man himself. And he was staring.

"That's creepy, Tony," Bruce informed him, his voice cracked and raspy.

Tony, never one to be daunted by social niceties, such as making sure his guests were not uncomfortable, continued staring at him. After a lengthy pause, he said, sounding somehow both awed and sickened, "You know, Banner, I knew you didn't particularly like yourself, but asking someone to shoot you in the head at point blank range? Seems a little...excessive."

So, Natasha had tattled. Not especially surprising…except that she had deigned to speak to Tony at all.

"How...did the mission go?" Bruce asked.

"You mean, did you kill and maim innocent civilians and cause millions of dollars in structural damages?"

"Something like that." God, he wished Tony wouldn't say "you" when referring to the Other Guy.

"The mission went fine. Well, I mean, it went fine after you got over _being shot in the head_. Hulk sampled, Hulk collected, Hulk _didn't _smash. Oh, and the fire's out, the chipmunks are saved. You're pretty good at following basic instructions in that form, you know, I really don't think you give yourself enough credit."

Bruce gritted his teeth against a snarky retort. Instead, he asked, "Was there any...collateral damage?"

"Nope. Well...not really."

Bruce found that he didn't like the phrase "not really" very much.

"Tony," he said, his tone edged with a warning. "What happened?"

Tony visibly hesitated. "Some trees were unexpectedly unsound. A group of firefighters was standing too close. You pushed them out of the way before they were crushed. Or burned. Or both."

A feeling like lead settled in Bruce's stomach. With a self-deprecating chuckle, he asked, "And did they survive being pushed by the Hulk? Because that's not exactly a little love tap."

"Relax. They survived. Two of them are still in the hospital, but they're expected to make a full recovery. Hey," he added, correctly reading the look on Bruce's face, "don't be so hard on yourself; you saved their lives."

Bruce made a frustrated noise, clenching his fist.

Tony noticed his movement. "Romanoff said your hand was broken before the transformation. Looks like it's better, though, that's nice."

As he expected he would, Bruce just let the snide comment roll off of him. "Yeah? Did Agent Romanoff say anything else?"

"She said you were having trouble with the transformation. And that you asked her to shoot you. And that you would explain why later. Shall I have JARVIS call her and Barton in so you can get on that? I think they're in their rooms, freshening up."

Bruce shot Tony a dirty look. But... "Yeah, I guess you should."

* * *

Natasha and Clint listened as Bruce calmly explained that he had trouble transforming earlier because he was having trouble getting angry. He suspected it stemmed from his recent trouble sleeping-after all, lack of sleep turned just about everyone into a zombie; Tony being a notable exception. It had seemed like a good idea, he said, to hurry things along, what with the mutated wildlife running amok and all. Being shot caused enough of an adrenaline rush to force the transformation. That was all.

It was all very clinical and detached. Impersonal. And it was largely untrue. Tony found this troubling. Bruce was not much of a liar. He was just too...earnest, or blunt. And awkward. That he had lied so easily was out of character.

The assassins clearly felt unsatisfied with Bruce's explanation. Still, in their line of work, Clint and Natasha weren't encouraged to ask a lot of questions. That didn't stop them from discussing things after leaving the tower, though.

"Banner was lying to us," said Clint. "Why?"

"I don't know. It's not like him...he's not exactly the crafty type."

Clint smirked. Banner might be a genius, but he wasn't particularly savvy when it came to interacting with people. Deception was, for the most part, way out of his range of ability.

"His hand was_ broken_, right?" Natasha asked.

"Definitely," Clint replied. "And I'm pretty sure it was from punching something-you can tell from the way the bone was displaced."

"Jesus," Natasha said, after a moment. "Do you think Banner is beating on Stark?"

Clint snorted. "I doubt it. I find it kinda hard to imagine Banner beating on anyone. As Banner, at least. He's so...awkward. And if he did it as the Hulk, the injuries would have healed almost instantly. And Stark would probably be dead."

Natasha nodded. "There's something up. Should we report it to Fury, do you think?"

Clint considered. "No, not yet. Leave the part when you shot Banner out of your report. I want to look into this without a lot of extra 'helpful' intervention. No point involving more people than necessary-you know how Banner feels about government agencies."

Natasha did. And she couldn't blame him. "Fair enough," she said. "In the meantime, we have to get this specimen back to headquarters."

"Wait," said Clint. "Wasn't Tony supposed to take care of that?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You know how he is. He just left it in the trunk, like it _wasn't _immensely dangerous and apt to kill us. Let's just get rid of it; I don't want to spend any more time with it than necessary."

Clint could wholeheartedly agree with that.

* * *

After the assassins had left (they had been up all night and were _still_ expected to make it to work for most of the day? Tony didn't envy that at all) Tony managed to make a couple of cups of coffee and found some reasonably fresh donuts in a box on the counter in the kitchen. God bless Pepper. Balancing a plate on top of the cups, he carefully maneuvered over to the couch. Bruce reached eagerly for the coffee, but looked rather ill at the sight of the pastries. _Oh well, more for me_, Tony thought.

"That was a nice story you told them, Bruce," Tony said, wishing he had thought to add a little something "extra" to his coffee. It was afternoon, and he hadn't had any alcohol yet. It had to be a new record.

"It was the truth," Bruce replied. "At least, as much as they needed to know."

"Right. You don't honestly think they couldn't tell you were lying."

Bruce gingerly poked at one of the donuts. He decided it was safe, and took a bite. "I don't understand what you want from me. You're just so...pushy. I don't get why you..." he looked uncertain how to continue.

"Why I what?" Tony asked. "Care?"

"Well...I was thinking something more like 'seem intent on annoying me to death,' but that works," said Banner. "This thing I do...it's not a problem. It's not affecting my life, it's not affecting my work-"

"It _is _affecting your work, though," Tony said. "Remember last night, or did being shot in the head addle your brain?"

"Not _tha t_work, Tony. My research. You know, physics? Gamma radiation? What you're paying me for? I'm a scientist, not a superhero. The Other Guy's the 'hero.' And the less we see of him, the better."

"If you can't transform, then...you couldn't be on the team. It'd be too dangerous."

"Tony," Bruce said, speaking as if he was addressing a very small, very stupid child. "I think that would be a good thing. Have you considered that maybe I don't _like_ turning into a rampaging, mindless beast at the slightest provocation? That I don't like being the most dangerous thing in the room, even when that room contains a megalomaniacal demigod hell-bent on subjugating the entire population of this planet? Did you think of the possibility that I don't like being this way, that I don't want to be part of a team that I'm only useful to because I. am. a. _Monster_? I hate this. I hate _being _this, and it's so stupidly dangerous that SHIELD is exploiting him, I just-"

Bruce stopped to catch his breath. Tony took the opportunity to interject.

"Shit, Bruce," he said, "if you were feeling so...used...when the fuck were you going to say something?"

A slightly confused look passed over Bruce's face. It was almost as if...

And then Tony was having a revelation.

"Christ, Banner..." Tony breathed. "It never even _occurred _to you to say something, did it?"

Bruce fiddled with his shirt sleeve and looked awkward.

"Bruce?" Tony prompted.

"Well, what was I going to do? I'm about two steps away from being dissected on a lab table. I don't have a lot of options, Tony. And that's fine-I'm so _dangerous_, so it's okay, I don't mind. I just...go along with it, and hope I don't kill someone, and I hope SHIELD won't decide that giving me my relative freedom was a terrible idea."

"Bruce...it's not like...if you're not on the team, it's not like SHIELD is going to turn you into a lab experiment. You're not their_ property_." Bruce made a doubtful face. "And we wouldn't let them do that to you."

Bruce looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"You know, us? The 'Avengers?' We wouldn't let you be an experiment. You're our friend. You're _my _friend. Do you even know what that means?"

Bruce quirked an eyebrow. Tony realized this conversation was approaching an unprecedented level of mushiness.

He decided to drive his point home, fast, and just get this over with so he could lapse into a carbohydrate-induced coma. "Look, Bruce. I think I'm starting to get it. For whatever reason, you just don't care about yourself, and I'm going to guess that you don't get why anyone would." Bruce tried to interrupt, but Tony was on a roll. "Just...all I'm asking... is _try_. Try not to think of yourself as expendable, or unimportant, or as a 'monster'. But! If you can't do that, if it's just not fucking happening, try to at least understand that _I'm _ going to care, and _Steve_'s going to care, _Romanoff_ and _Barton _are going to care, hell, even _Thor _cares and he's in a different galaxy, or something. Do you get it? We care about you, and it's really hard for me to watch you _not _care, to the point that you see nothing wrong with asking someone to shoot you in the head, or with breaking your own goddamned hand."

Shocked into silence by the tirade, Bruce nodded, mutely. He wanted to argue with Tony, to tell him that he was completely off base and being ridiculous, and obsessive, but he realized, as Tony was speaking, that his observations were, to some degree, correct. It wasn't so much that Bruce felt he was expendable, or worthless, he had just never stopped to consider the possibility that he _had _worth. It seemed so anathema, so illogical, that the thought had never crossed his mind. He had lost all his worth as a person the day of the irradiation incident. Right?

"That's good," said Tony, taking Bruce's nod to signify his agreement. "Now, that said, I'd like to add that you're completely fucking stupid, and if you ever do something approaching that level of idiocy again, I'll have JARVIS lock you in your room for a month. Got it?"

Bruce nodded again. _Did he just threaten to ground me?_

"Great, glad we've got that settled." He stood. "I've been awake for almost two days so, I'm going to bed." He turned and started heading back towards his bedroom.

"You know," Bruce said from behind him, "Sleeping in the middle of the day is just going to screw up your sleep cycle even worse."

Tony knew that was true. But he was _tired_, damnit! And full of carbohydrates. It was _so _nap time. "...Goodnight, Bruce."

As he was shutting the door to his room, he heard, from the living area, a _thump _ followed by something mumbled, that sounded an awful like, "_goddamn _me."

_Small steps_, Tony thought.

* * *

Reviews pretty much make my whole day better. Just so you know. No pressure.

Chapter 5 is...started, but going badly.


	5. Drunk Dial Protection Programming

These chapters just keep getting longer, isn't that weird? This one ended up happening much, much faster than I thought it would. This also bumps this story up over 10,000 words, which is something I never thought I'd be able to do.

Okay, onwards!

Warning: mention of suicide, mention of drug use, mention of self-harm, language, awkward belligerent drunkenness.

I own nothing.

* * *

Steve Rogers thought it was really nice of Stark to let him live in his tower. Working for SHIELD paid all right (okay, more than all right if he was honest), but he still couldn't afford rent in Manhattan. At least, not anywhere that didn't give him the heebie jeebies. The accommodations at Stark Tower were...actually, they were intimidating. They were luxurious, though at times ridiculous, and so much better than anything he could afford on his own. Steve didn't imagine Stark needed the money (being a billionaire and all), but he made it a point to slip him rent on the first of every month. It was a matter of principle. You shouldn't take something for free if you can afford to pay for it. Stark had never said anything about it, though- he doubted that the man had enough awareness of his finances to notice an extra couple hundred dollars here and there.

When he made it home from his mission, it was, by his reckoning, time for food. But then, with his metabolism, it was almost always time for food. Thank goodness New York was the city that never slept, because it was after midnight, and they usually ordered dinner in. None of them were particularly fond of cooking, and in some cases were disastrous in the kitchen (Steve had to chuckle at the memory of Tony's attempt at bananas foster...even if he _did _end up covered in fire suppressant foam).

He was kind of surprised that no one was around. Yeah, it was late, but Tony never slept, and you could usually find at least one other person in the kitchen (the communal kitchen-the "Avengers" had a floor to themselves, including their rooms, a lounge, and a kitchen...all located a fair distance from Stark's rooms, although Stark did pop in to visit, often) at any time of the day. He checked the lounge area, which was also vacant. Odd.

"JARVIS?" he asked, unable, even after all this time, to shake the feeling of insanity that accompanied addressing an empty space.

"Yes, sir?" Steve wondered for the billionth time why Tony had programmed his AI with that stuffy British accent. Oh, well, Howard had been eccentric, he supposed that kind of thing ran in families.

"Where is everyone?"

"Mr. Stark is... "sleeping," and threatened bodily harm to anyone who disturbed him. Dr. Banner has been in repose since 6:30 this evening. Mr. Barton and Ms. Romanoff are currently not in residence, although their cell phone signals indicate that they are at their on-base housing. Thor is presumably in Asgard, but Mr. Stark has not yet developed a way to track his location. Director Fury is currently at his desk in his office at SHIELD's headquarters—"

"Thanks, JARVIS, that's good." Steve wondered exactly how much surveillance Stark had going on _him_.

Oh well, whatever. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him. He shrugged to himself and considered waking Dr. Banner to ask if he wanted anything to eat, since he had (presumably) missed dinner. However, he was spared from the trouble by the man's timely appearance.

"Steve! We weren't expecting you back until tomorrow morning, it's good to see you" said Bruce from behind him.

Steve turned. The physicist was smiling, and seemed cheerful enough, but boy, did he look terrible. _Haggard_, Steve thought. _That's how he looks_. He had dark circles under his eyes, and looked very much like he could use a shower and a shave. He also looked as if, without intervention, he might not remain standing upright much longer.

Almost on cue, Bruce half-tipped over and leaned against the wall. Then he gave a small shrug, like he was thinking "to hell with it," and sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island. And then, in final defeat, slumped over, resting his head on his folded arms.

"Are you...okay, Dr. Banner?" Steve asked.

"Sure am," he mumbled into his arms.

He didn't look fine.

"Do you want dinner? I was going to order pizza."

"...Sounds good."

Steve was looking in the phonebook for the number to the pizza place when Tony stumbled into the room, looking like his usual radiant and amazingly good-looking self. Or, so he thought. In reality, he looked quite intoxicated, an image that was reinforced when he promptly pulled a bottle of scotch out, seemingly from thin air, and poured himself a generous portion. Into a plastic, Avengers-themed sippy cup. Where did these things even _come _from?

"What are you doing, Rogers? That's so 20th century. I didn't even know I _had _a phone book," he said, sucking scotch through the straw. He thought he ought consume liquor using a straw more often. This was truly convenient.

"I'm trying to order pizza," he said, then pointed at Bruce and mouthed, _What's wrong with him_?

Tony looked at Bruce, and raised an eyebrow. Disregarding Steve's attempt at tact, he said loudly, "Oh, Banner? Yeah, we had a mission. He got shot in the head, Hulked out, you know how it goes. Hey, JARVIS, how long was Banner asleep for?"

"About five hours, sir."

"Yeah, apparently a five hour nap didn't do much to help him recover from, you know, being shot in the head."

Bruce turned his head to glare at Tony. "I'm right here, you know. I can hear you."

Steve was concerned on a number of different levels. First, he had finally caught on to the fact that Stark was...what was the word they used these days? Wasted. Second, he was becoming belligerent, and had been known to, on occasion, blow his house up when drinking and in a tizzy. Third, whenever Dr. Banner was shot, mayhem and destruction usually followed very closely. He'd read the files. "And um...how did the mission go?"

"Fine," answered Bruce quickly, attempting to forestall any more of Tony's verbal diarrhea, to no avail.

"Don't worry about it, Cap," Tony said. "Getting shot in the head was all part of Dr. Banner's 'master plan.'" He used air quotes around "master plan." Actual air quotes.

Bruce couldn't believe Tony was doing this to him. What had he done to piss him off?

"What does that even mean?" asked Steve.

"_Nothing_," said Bruce, willing Tony to just, for once, shut the fuck up.

It wasn't going to happen, though.

"Bruce needed to transform, he couldn't get angry, so he asked our fine SHIELD operative, agent Romanoff, to shoot him. In the head. Did I mention that? He _specifically requested_ she shoot him _in the head_."

Bruce groaned and buried his face in his arms.

Steve took a moment to process. "That's...don't you think that was awfully dangerous, Dr. Banner?"

Bruce sat up and propped his head up against his hand. "Well...I guess so. I mean, it's never good to provoke the Other Guy, but I needed to transform. There were mutant squirrels, Steve. Big ones."

"Actually, I meant, don't you think that was awfully dangerous to _you_?"

Fuck. _Way to go, Banner_, he thought to himself. "Um." And there was that genius-level intellect again. Wonderful.

Bruce knew he had to tread carefully here. Steve was…a special brand of 1940s oblivious. And Tony was feeling confrontational. Never a good thing. "Actually, it wasn't dangerous. To me. I knew a shot to the head wouldn't kill me."

But Bruce had not tread carefully enough.

"Because you'd already given that the old college try, right, Bruce?" Tony interjected. "Just out of curiosity, is there anything _else _ you can definitively say won't kill you? You know, from close, _personal _experience?"

Bruce really didn't want to get into this right now, with Captain Fucking America standing there, looking increasingly out of his depth. "I'm not sure what you want me to say, Tony," he said.

"A list would be fiiiiiine," said Tony, "I'm all ears."

Bruce wasn't sure what had inspired Tony's current mood, but boy, was he curious.

* * *

Bruce was right, Tony thought, about the problems associated with afternoon naps. For one, it was 9:30 and he had just woken up a bit ago, and was now wide-awake. Second, he was hungry, but had only increasingly stale donuts within easy reach and was too lazy to procure more food. Third, he was bored. He had just finished programming JARVIS to inform him every time Bruce sustained an injury, and had learned in just a few minutes that Bruce was either immensely clumsy or incredibly unlucky. In what Tony assumed was a trip to the bathroom, he had stubbed his toe on the bed frame, scalded himself with the hot water, and tripped over a pair of shoes. Tony wondered how he had survived to adulthood.

After about 34 more seconds of being bored, Tony had decided that, in lieu of a normal sleep schedule, he would just substitute alcohol. This admittedly did not make much sense, but it seemed like a good plan. After all, he had found that all of his best ideas happened when he was drunk.

Of course...all of his worst ideas did, as well, so when he finally _had_an idea he couldn't tell if it was brilliant or immensely stupid.

"JARVIS," he said, after a few shots of tequila. "I have an idea."

"Yes, sir, and how can I help?"

"Get Director Fury on the phone."

"Sir, given the hour and the current alcohol content of your blood, I strongly advise against this action. Indeed, I cannot allow it."

Damn his responsible AI. Always ruining his fun.

"Just do it, JARVIS, before I re-program you to talk like...Yoda or something, I don't even know, just do it."

"Sir, you have protections in place for this situation. Please input the drunk-dial override code if you truly wish to make this call."

What the fuck was a "drunk-dial override code"?

"JAAAAAARVIS," Tony whined.

"Sir, you were very specific after the 'maudlin radio karaoke incident' of 2011. I am not to permit you to make phone calls when your blood alcohol content has reached .08 or higher, unless you input the override code."

Tony thought for a moment. "Can you give me a hint?"

"You said it would be 'totally obvious,' sir. No hint is programmed."

Hmm.

Oh, duh. Of course. It _was _totally obvious.

Tony cleared his throat. Then, in a pretty decent imitation of the Black Sabbath song, he said, "I-am-Iron Man!"

"Password recognized. Shall I connect your call, sir?"

"Yeah, thanks JARVIS, you're a peach."

Tony knew that Director Fury was an android or something, who existed only to work and do...whatever it was he did when the world wasn't in danger of being taken over by a demigod in a ridiculous helmet. So he wasn't surprised at all when he answered on the first ring.

"Stark. This better be damn important."

Tony promptly forgot why he had called in the first place. Fuck.

"Stark?"

Oh, yeah.

"Director, did you know that Dr. Banner hates being a superhero?"

"What?"

"I'm just saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaying that he shouldn't have to be an Avenger, since he doesn't want to. He thinks it's too dangerous."

"...Stark, are you drunk?"

Tony paused to think about it. He decided to be non-committal. "My AI says I am. I disagree."

"Look, Stark, Banner's not being forced into anything. If he leaves the team, that's his prerogative. If he's not working with SHIELD, though, it'll be a hell of a lot harder to keep tabs on him, and it'll be really fucking tough to stop other people from keeping tabs on him, if you get my meaning."

Tony thought he did. "So...what you're saying is...you're not going to force Bruce to work with you...but...you'll let him get kidnapped or experimented on or something if he doesn't."

Fury didn't answer immediately. His silence was very telling. After a moment, he said, tersely, "Stark, go sober up. Get some sleep. This conversation is over."

The line went dead.

_Well_, Tony thought, _that could have gone better_. Then: _I need a fucking drink_.

He made a mental note to improve his drunk-dial protection programming.

* * *

By midnight, Tony had had significantly more than one additional drink. In fact, he had passed out a bit before 11:00, and remained that way until JARVIS informed him at midnight that Dr. Banner was currently in the shower and had been banging the back of his head rather forcefully against the wall for some time.

Tony, being drunk and exhausted, was significantly less understanding and sensitive than he had been earlier. _Did that moron listen to a thing I said_? _What the fuck is _wrong _with him?_

He staggered out of bed and headed towards the elevator. He had some things he needed to say.

* * *

"Really, Tony?" Bruce asked. "A list?"

Tony nodded.

Well, if Tony was aiming to embarrass him, or shock Steve, or both, Bruce could step up to the plate. He had a deep, visceral yearning to just get Tony to shut the hell up.

"Okay then. You want a list? Okay. We can do a list." He snatched the bottle of scotch away from Tony, ignoring his protests, and took a swig. Drinking was usually off-limits, but he thought that, since Tony was constantly pushing him to give the Other Guy some credit, he could get right the fuck on it. "Let's see...'Things that can't kill Bruce Banner:' Gunshot wounds. Broken neck. Massive crush injuries. Exsanguination. Asphyxiation. Drowning." He paused, and then ticked off on his fingers, "Valium. Vicodin. Morphine. Heroin. Etorphine."

At first, Steve thought Dr. Banner was listing off all the ways that people had tried to kill him over the years, during his various run-ins with unfriendly government agencies and other brightly-colored rage monsters. And, maybe, at first he was. However, as he went on, Steve realized that he was listing off the ways he had tried, and failed, to kill _himself._ He felt the blood drain slowly from his face and settle into his stomach in a hot knot of anxiety. _What else had Dr. Banner been hiding_?

Tony, though, looked like he'd been expecting this. As Banner lapsed into silence, Tony shifted his gaze between Steve and Bruce, as if he was deciding on his next move—a challenge, after that much booze. After a moment, he reached a decision. "Could you excuse us, Captain? I need to have a word with Dr. Banner," he said, sounding rather more sober than he had a mere two minutes ago.

As awful and cowardly as it might have been, Steve was pretty glad to excuse himself. This situation had escalated well beyond his comfort zone, and he was completely at a loss as to what he should do. He needed some time to think before he could react.

Once Tony and Bruce were alone, they sat in awkward silence for a minute. Bruce's irritation with Tony had faded at some point during his tirade, and Tony's frustration with Bruce had melted away in the harsh light of his confession.

After a sizeable chunk of time, Tony cleared his throat and said, "Heroin, Bruce? _Etorphine_?"

Bruce shrugged. "The heroin helped, for a while. Then it didn't anymore. Etorphine was...just a way out."

Tony was learning more about this man every day. And good God, was it terrifying. After another period of silence, Tony remembered why he had stormed down here in the first place. "How's your head?" he asked.

Bruce looked surprised. "How did you—are you spying on me? In the _shower_?"

"Me? No, of course not. That would be rude. JARVIS might be, though." Tony smirked, trying to lighten the mood.

Bruce made a noise that sounded very much like a growl. "I think what I do in the shower is none of your business, Stark," he said, icily.

Tony raised an eyebrow, physically incapable of letting that comment go. "Oh, no Bruce, I am _intensely _interested in what goes on in your shower." Bruce blushed; Tony thought it was…kind of adorable? But distracting from the matter at hand. Which was:

"I thought you said you only hurt yourself to dampen your emotions."

"Yeah, and...?"

"I think you're full of shit." Okay, well, that was blunt. But he _was _still drunk. "I think you're punishing yourself, Bruce."

"And I think you have no idea what you're talking about, since we're being so honest and open with each other."

"Is that what you think? Okay then, here's what we'll do. Next time you decide to hurt yourself, you think about why you're doing it. Think really, really, really hard about it. Like, as hard as you can. Super hard, okay? Then tell me why. Preferably before you do anything. K?"

God, Tony was obnoxious. "Fine. Whatever. I'm going to bed. Again."

Tony counted it as a major victory.

* * *

Chapter 6 is started, and will likely be finished in a few days.

I'd like to thank everyone who's reviewed, since I'm too awkward to do it individually. Reviews are a huge motivation, and they're always appreciated.


	6. Supportive and Helpful Friends

Warnings: language (as always), people with questionable hygiene. Actually, this chapter's pretty tame.

I own nothing.

* * *

After Clint and Natasha had dropped off their dangerous bundle, Director Fury had, amazingly, given them the rest of the day off. He had muttered something about how putting up with Stark for that long had to be draining, and he needed his agents either in top form or not at all. The assassins slipped out of the room before he had a chance to change his mind.

It was late afternoon, but the pair wasn't accustomed to being out of work before 8:00, if they left at all. Thus, they found themselves with some free time. Clint, who subsisted entirely on caffeine and adrenaline, wanted to get started on "the Banner Problem" immediately. Well, after some coffee. Natasha, however, had a slightly different plan that involved food and sleep. "And," she said, pointedly, "bathing."

Clint had to concede that he was rocking some pretty serious funk.

The pair decided to part ways for the night. They struck an agreement to pay a visit to Stark Tower first thing in the morning. It didn't seem necessary to tell anyone that they would be coming. After all, they practically lived there, and who wouldn't want a nice morning visit from the friendly neighborhood assassins, anyway?

* * *

"Dr. Banner," JARVIS said, into the darkened bedroom, "Agents Barton and Romanoff are here to see you."

"...What?"

"Agents Barton and Romanoff are here to see you. They are waiting in the lounge."

Bruce, in that exact moment, hated JARVIS more than he had ever hated anything. Normally, he was a morning person, much to Tony's irritation. However, he was still recovering from the transformation, and his last run-in with Tony, and, oh, good lord it was only 7:00 AM, who _visits _that fucking early, anyway?

"Scale of one to ten, JARVIS," he mumbled, "how important do you think it is that I actually shower for this?"

"I would say 7, sir. The agents are looking very put together this morning."

Fuck.

"Could you please tell them that I'll be out in a minute?"

"Certainly, sir."

Bruce staggered into his bathroom, still only half-awake. He managed to get through the basics of washing, followed by the basics of grooming. After making sure that his shirt (why did he own an Iron Man t-shirt? Really?) was on inside-right and he had, in fact, remembered to put on pants, he wandered out and down the hall.

Natasha and Clint were sitting at opposite ends of the couch, watching some show about a pawn shop and arguing about how much money they thought the store owner should give some poor guy for his "vintage" piece of junk. Bruce, never one to boldly assert himself, coughed quietly to announce his presence.

They turned around, and looked at him with nearly identical and highly disturbing grins.

"Good morning, Dr. Banner," said Natasha, with obscene cheer.

"We thought we could talk," said Clint, taking a sip from what looked like a 32 oz. coffee.

Bruce suddenly had a very bad feeling. Maybe he was lucky, and was just having a horrific nightmare. He pinched himself. Nope. This was reality.

Natasha patted the middle couch cushion. "Why don't you have a seat?"

Right, because that's _exactly _where he wanted to sit. Too polite to say anything, though, he settled in between assassins. From the look Natasha shot Clint, he knew he'd fallen nicely into their trap. Damn it, it was too _early _for traps.

Clint immediately grabbed his hand, the one that had been broken before his last transformation. He prodded at the knuckles, then bent each finger. "Does that hurt?"

"...No."

Clint bent one finger a bit further than necessary.

"Ow, okay, _ow_, that hurt."

Clint grinned. "Looks like this healed up good as new."

"...Yeah?"

"Yeah. So, let's start easy. You want to tell us how your hand got broken in the first place?"

Bruce found that he really didn't. But, lying wasn't going to work, as experience had already shown. It was time for cautious truth. "I...punched a lab table."

"Damn," said Clint. "That must have been one hell of a punch."

Bruce was tempted to say, 'No, actually, I just did it three times,' but that wasn't _cautious _truth. And he was proceeding with _caution_. Other people were so damn unpredictable, you could never tell what they were going to do. Best to feel it out.

Natasha's phone rang. She excused herself to answer it.

Clint was, unfortunately, not going to be discouraged in his questioning by the absence of his partner in crime. "Okay, so, why the fuck did you punch a lab table?"

Bruce considered going into a long-winded explanation of his current research, how it had looked so promising until all of his cell cultures and just up and died and he had _no _fucking idea why (and that didn't bode well), and how he was now set back at least six months, maybe even a year if things went badly which they almost _always _did around him. But he imagined how Clint's eyes would probably glaze over at the first mention of the word "mitochondria," and even _he _thought it was too early to be talking biophysics.

So instead, he just said, "Trouble in the lab," and shrugged.

Clint narrowed his eyes. He could certainly relate to punching something in frustration. He'd done it on occasion, although he'd never broken his hand in the process. No, what was interesting about Banner's statement wasn't what he said, but the look on his face as he spoke. He had clenched his jaw, almost grinding his teeth, and had actually _scowled_, before schooling his expression back to neutrality. Clint wondered if he was even aware of it, of how much his face betrayed his thoughts.

Clint wanted to know what those thoughts were.

He was about to say as much, and dive into his best interrogation technique, when Natasha re-entered the room (and fortuitously saved Bruce from the trauma). "That was Fury. The SHIELD scientists were wondering if Dr. Banner could come and take a look at that thing we brought in. The radiation it's emitting is apparently unique, or something. He said he didn't quite understand what the report said, just something about frequency and wavelength that went way over his head."

Banner looked intrigued at the idea of studying supposedly extraterrestrial electromagnetic radiation. Still, Natasha asked, "Are you amenable to that, Dr. Banner?"

He nodded.

Clint stood-nay, bounced-up. "All right, let's go! We can pick up more coffee on the way."

Bruce looked down at his Iron Man t-shirt and jeans. "Can I at least change before we go?"

Natasha smirked. "Dr. Banner, I don't know why you'd want to."

* * *

In the end, Bruce settled for putting a button-down shirt over the offending t-shirt. That way, he didn't have to look at it (and he didn't look like a member of the Tony Stark fan club), but if something went wrong and he Hulked out, it would still be destroyed. He thought that was really solid planning.

The drive to SHIELD's headquarters was terrifying. Bruce didn't leave the Tower much, since there was nothing about New York that could be defined as "stress free." The traffic was particularly troubling. He sat in the back of the car, doing deep breathing exercises with his eyes closed. He graciously accepted the coffee they offered him, and the slightly ominous breakfast sandwich (what kind of meat _was _that?), and despite his aversion to eating in the car (it was messy), he snarfed both down in record time.

Bruce had never actually been to SHIELD's headquarters. The Other Guy had been, once. He had been instrumental in detaining Loki, and had been part of the prisoner transport team. Bruce had no memory of this, though. He just hoped he'd been wearing pants. It was an ever present concern.

The labs were located below ground, something that Bruce hated. The equipment was top of the line, but after months of working in Stark Tower, it seemed outdated. He realized that he had become quite dependant on Tony's AI, and doing things like actually typing search terms into the computer instead of politely requesting JARVIS do the research was quite inconvenient.

Still, it was nice to work with other physicists for once, even if they were...not _quite_up to his level. They were right about the radiation coming from the object (which Bruce had nicknamed "The Spaceball"), though. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen.

It had an infinitesimally small wavelength, and consequently a high frequency, higher even than gamma rays. Thus, it was very high-energy. When Bruce looked at the readout from the scans he had taken, he had to shake his head. Tony was fixated on him being shot in the head that night, but it turned out the most dangerous thing he'd done was getting within a half-mile of whatever was in the box. Actually touching it must have been excruciating. It was a wonder it hadn't killed him.

But! Best not to think those thoughts. It was time for _science._

* * *

Steve knew that being from the 1940s put him at odds with current cultural norms. Often, something that shocked him deeply was regarded by those around him as commonplace and uninteresting. Instead of reacting on his initial impressions, then, he had gotten into the habit of taking some time to get a feel for what a "normal" reaction would be. Tony joked that he ought to go to college for anthropology, since he showed such an interest in learning about culture. But Steve didn't want a degree; he just didn't want to feel so...out of place.

He almost always did, despite his best efforts.

After the confrontation in the kitchen, Steve had enlisted the help of JARVIS to do some research. He wasn't too good on the internet just yet, and after a few unfortunate incidents, preferred to let the AI do most of the searching. It was just better that way.

For once, Steve saw, his initial impression had been spot-on. Discovering that someone you considered a close friend had attempted suicide was often shocking. Other common reactions included anger, sadness, frustration, or worry. Steve thought for a moment, and realized he had felt all of those. That was good. Maybe he was getting the hang of the 21st century after all.

But, where to go from here?

His immediate reaction was to ignore it. But immediate reactions weren't reliable, and just ignoring it seemed impossible. Dr. Banner's words rested heavily on him, like a physical weight crushing his chest.

He fell asleep ruminating on the issue.

When he woke up in the morning, he had come to the decision that the best course of action would be a group meeting. Of course, he'd clear it with Dr. Banner first, but Steve felt it was important that the rest of the team know Bruce's history. They depended on each other, and having something like this hanging over them could impact the team in unpredictable ways. Also, as friends, Steve thought that the others had a right to know. Friends were meant to be supportive, and if anyone needed supporting, it was Dr. Banner.

He got up a bit after 8:00 and headed towards the kitchen. There was an empty coffee cup on the counter-the biggest coffee cup Steve had ever seen-but aside from that, there was no evidence of other people. "JARVIS, is Dr. Banner awake?"

"Yes, sir. He left with agents Barton and Romanoff about an hour ago."

Hmm. That was odd.

"Is Tony awake?"

The AI made a sound that may have been laughter. "Certainly not, sir. Would you like me to wake him?"

"Yeah, JARVIS, I'd like that a lot. Tell him it's important."

Forty-five minutes later (Steve wondered how long it would have been if it _hadn't _been "important"), Tony stalked into the lounge and threw himself into one of the arm chairs. He stayed still for maybe three seconds before he leapt back up and stormed into the kitchen. He started opening drawers and cabinets, becoming increasingly irate. Finally, he marched over to Steve, poked the taller man in the chest and said, "Coffee. Now. Go, minion."

Luckily, Steve had spent a bit of time working with the kitchen appliances, and had soon located the coffee and brewed a pot.

Equipped with cups, the pair made their way back to the living area. Steve turned on the news, more for background noise than anything, and settled into a chair. After a moment, he said, "We need to talk to Dr. Banner."

"Who's we? And why?" Tony took a gulp of coffee and scalded his mouth. Now lacking all oral feeling, he sucked his coffee down with abandon.

"I was thinking the team should get together—" Tony stood up and walked out of the room.

He returned a moment later with more coffee. "Don't you people keep food here? I'm starving to death. Literally starving. Well, not literally. Figuratively, but in a way that I might soon die of starvation. Oh, and the team's not getting involved in anything."

Steve took half a second to process that. "Why not?"

"Look, Banner's got issues. No one's going to deny that. Well, except him. But sitting down and holding hands in a circle and talking about it's not going to fix it."

"Stark, as team leader, I think I'll decide what we get involved in. And as part of the team, Dr. Banner—"

"Banner's not going to be part of the team." Blunt and to the point.

"...What?"

"Banner is not going to be part of the team. He doesn't want to be. He thinks 'the Hulk' is too dangerous to justify his continued presence. Not sure I agree, but that's how he feels."

"How do you know that?"

"He told me. But he's convinced that Fury's going to hand him over to some government lab if he doesn't work with SHIELD. I'm not entirely convinced he's wrong."

"That's not true, Tony. They can't force him to do anything. He's the _Hulk_, I'd like to see anyone try to force him into something he didn't want to do."

"I'm not sure if you've realized this, Cap, but Bruce...is _not _the Hulk. He's Bruce Banner, a socially awkward physicist with criminally low self-esteem. I think he might be completely incapable of standing up for himself. It's not hard to force him to do something he doesn't want to do. Fuck, he usually beats everyone to the 'punch'." Tony smirked at his own dark humor.

It was lost on Steve. "I don't understand."

"Bruce will do anything, _anything_, for other people. Whether they ask him to, or not. With no regard for his own well-being. It doesn't occur to him that he shouldn't, you know, ask to be shot in the head, if the alternative is harm coming to someone else."

Steve didn't like the aggressive tone Tony was taking. "Well, what's wrong with that? I mean, yeah, it's dangerous, but it's kind of noble, too." He thought back to the war, about the soldiers who'd been willing to give everything for their friends and country. "It's an honor to sacrifice your life for that of another."

Tony shot Steve a disgusted look. "It's not noble. It's not honorable. It's sick. _He's _sick." With that, he took his coffee, stopped in the kitchen to pointedly empty the rest of the pot into his cup, and left.

Steve sighed, and felt more out of place than ever.

* * *

At the end of the day, and after a promise to come back tomorrow (or at least within the next few days, Bruce wanted to work on his notes alone for a while), Bruce allowed Natasha to return him to Stark Tower. Clint had been called away to do something that was undoubtedly dangerous, perhaps more so than usual, if Natasha's terse mood and aggressive driving were anything to go by. Still, she bade him a good evening in a civil tone, and only screeched the tires a little bit as she pulled away from the curb.

He ran into Tony in the elevator. They went up in awkward silence. Until Tony decided that he wouldn't be constrained by something as mundane as awkward silence.

"Hey, Brucie, did you have a good day playing with the other scientists?"

Well, Bruce could play along. "As a matter of fact, I did."

"Oh? Learn anything interesting?" Tony dropped all pretenses when it came to science.

"Yeah, but it's not something that an _engineer _could possibly understand." Bruce knew Tony was significantly more than "an engineer," but the indignant look on his face was priceless. He couldn't help it; he laughed.

Bruce left Tony in the elevator, sputtering about how physicists depended on engineers, and didn't he know that it was engineers who _really_built the atom bomb?

He wandered down the hall, thinking vaguely of leaving his things in his room then heading to his lab to read over his notes. Of course, he should probably stop to grab a snack. He'd had dinner...or lunch? With the other physicists around 3:30, and even though he wasn't very hungry just yet, he knew he'd probably get buried in his work and forget to eat. Best to get it out of the way now.

Steve was sitting in the kitchen, reading the newspaper and eating pad thai. A lot of pad thai. He looked up. "Oh, hey Dr. Banner."

"Hey, Steve. I don't suppose you ordered...?"

"Your kow pad is in the fridge."

"Oh, you're a saint." He pulled it out and stuck the container in the microwave.

A moment later, he was sitting across from Steve, attempting to use his tablet with one hand while using chopsticks with the other. Tony had invited him to play this Smurf game, and he'd be damned if it wasn't addictive and slowly sucking his life away. Between that and Draw Something, it was a wonder he had time for physics at all.

The pair sat in companionable silence—nothing awkward here, nope—for several minutes.

It was broken by Steve, in a really blunt, and in retrospect, shitty, way. "When were you going to tell me that you didn't want to be on the team?"

Bruce dropped his chopsticks in surprise. He actually hadn't intended to _ever _tell Steve that, as it turned out. "You've been talking to Tony," he said slowly.

Bruce wondered what else Tony had told him.

The half-pitying, half-concerned look on Steve's face indicated that Tony had told him rather a lot. Bruce was torn between throwing something, or maybe just trying very, very hard to become invisible. Wasn't there someone who'd managed that…?

"Maybe we should get Tony down here," suggested Steve, noting the physicist's rapidly darkening expression.

"Maybe we should," said Bruce, shortly.

Significantly less than forty-five minutes later this time, Tony slipped into the room. Bruce idly wondered how many dramatic confrontations were normal in everyday life, and if he was setting some kind of record. He blamed Tony—the man screamed "drama queen."

"Dr. Banner and I were just discussing his continued presence in the Avengers initiative," said Steve.

_Oh_, Tony thought. _This is going to be bad_.

Out loud, he said, "I see." That was non-committal. He felt it was a good start.

"I didn't realize my continued involvement was a concern," Bruce said, glaring.

"Hey," snapped Tony, "Don't get all offended because I passed the message along when you _couldn't_. You're the one who said you thought it was too dangerous. You're the one who said you wanted off the team before you accidentally kill someone. You're the one who thinks it would be for the best if you never transformed again, and you're the one who'd do anything to see that happen."

"Yeah, Tony, you're right. As always. Silly me, trying not to turn into a giant rage monster and slaughter you all. How absurd I am."

"You know," said Tony, "You're the one with the problem with it. The rest of us...well, it's not the worst thing in the fucking world, right?"

There was a silence that stretched about to infinity.

"Not...the worst thing...in the world." said Bruce. "Losing control of my body and destroying everything and everyone around me is not the worst thing in the world?" Tony felt he had just stuck his foot in his mouth in a major way. Bruce looked angry. Very angry. And that was never good.

"Tony," Bruce said, his voice very quiet and strained, "I think you should put on your suit."

Tony reached for his bracelet.

This seemed like a step backwards.

* * *

Chapter 7 is in the works. Two days seems to be about normal, so probably July 5th.


	7. What We Deserve

Warning: fairly graphic self-harm, excessive angst, at least seventeen uses of the word "fuck."

Make that eighteen.

Edited to add: I own nothing.

* * *

The worst part of watching Bruce struggle against the transformation, Tony thought, was knowing that he'd been the idiot who had triggered the whole thing.

Tony had complied quickly when Bruce had suggested he get into his suit. In seconds, he was armed to the teeth, ready to kick ass—although hoping he wouldn't have to. Now, though, he was left standing impotently, watching. Nothing in the Iron Man armor could help with this situation.

The switch hadn't happened. Bruce's features were drawn, and he breathed deeply, in a desperate attempt to relax. Tony managed to catch his eye; he saw they had turned bright, vivid green.

Tony didn't know if Bruce had ever managed to hold off the transformation for this long before.

"Jesus," the physicist moaned, seeing that Steven and Tony were frozen in place, staring at him, waiting. "Get _out _of here!" His limbs bulged, then retracted.

Tony wondered if it hurt.

Bruce's scream answered that question.

"What are you _waiting _for?" Bruce gasped a moment later, when the spasm had subsided and he'd found enough air to form words.

"We're not leaving," Steve said. Tony wondered when he'd slipped out and grabbed his shield. "We're not going to run away from this. This isn't just your problem."

Bruce took a deep, shuddering breath. "Then...this...isn't going to happen," he said, almost calmly—an illusion that was shattered as another spasm had him curling in on himself. His anger had given way to panic, as it so often did in these incidents, but it was just as dangerous. His mind, unbidden, conjured up an image of Tony and Steve, his _friends, oh God I think I have __friends _lying broken and bleeding, dying in this kitchen, and his heart rate kicked up another notch.

Yet, as the spasm passed, he managed to lurch to his feet and stagger to the counter. He leaned there for a moment, immobile. Then, with shaking, trembling hands, he yanked open one of the drawers.

Tony realized what he was going to do a moment too late.

Bruce reached into the drawer and pulled out of one the paring knives. Quickly, faster than Tony could even follow, he had driven all four and a half inches of the blade into his thigh. Just as quickly, he pulled it out, giving the blade a vicious twist.

The pain was excruciating, a burn that raced down to his toes and up his spine until it exploded in a burst of stars behind his eyes. He dropped the knife, having lost contact with the muscles in his hands. He felt blood streaming down his leg and pooling into his shoe, hot and sticky, but it was inconsequential, almost unnoticeable.

Bruce thought, at first, that it was too much, that he had blown past the level of pain and injury needed to calm down and had traipsed merrily into "Hulk for defense" territory. His heart pounded in his chest, his muscles shivered and trembled under his skin.

Waves of agony coursed through him, and he sank to his knees, groaning. He could hear Tony and Steve talking, maybe yelling, but couldn't make out what they were saying over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. _Christ, Banner_, he thought. _You really fucked it up this time_.

But after what felt like an eternity (though it had only been five seconds at the absolute maximum), when he was certain he couldn't hold on a second longer, his pituitary finally kicked in, releasing a flood of endorphins into his bloodstream. His anger, frustration, and panic were washed away, replaced with a calm, euphoric, nothingness. His muscles relaxed, all tension bleeding away. Oblivious to everything around him, he rolled onto his side, eyes drifting shut.

Before he passed out, he had time to think, _Tony's going to kill me_.

* * *

Reflecting on it later, Tony knew that the whole episode, from Bruce telling him to suit up to Bruce passing out on the floor took maybe five minutes. Maybe as much as seven or eight minutes, but definitely less than ten. Still, as it was happening, it had felt much, much longer. Perhaps as long as a millennium. He certainly felt a millennium older.

"Fuck!" Tony had yelled, as Bruce drove the blade into his leg, watching in horror as Bruce's face went very, very white...and a touch green.

"Dr. Banner!" Steve had exclaimed at the same time.

Bruce groaned and collapsed to his knees. Tony and Steve froze, uncertain if physicist was about give in to his other side. For a moment, it seemed inevitable. But then the spasms stopped, and the green tinge to his skin vanished. Now his only color came from the rapidly spreading pool of blood around him.

"Shit, that's a lot of blood (1). Shit. Fuck! I think he hit an artery. There's an artery there, right? Fuck!" Tony was a paragon of eloquence under pressure.

"I'll get a tourniquet." Steve was all business, ever the team leader.

"No, wait," Tony said. "Tourniquets cut off blood flow to everything below them. He could lose the leg. Just apply pressure to the wound."

Bruce rolled onto his side, eyes closed and breathing slow.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, I think he passed out, shit!"

Steve grabbed a kitchen towel and pressed down hard on the wound. "Should we call 911?"

"That won't be necessary," said Natasha, striding into the room. Clint followed close behind.

"What the fuck are _you _doing here?" Tony asked, his voice about an octave higher than usual.

"I'll explain later. For now, move Dr. Banner to his bedroom. A doctor from SHIELD is on the way, he's about ten minutes out. Keep applying pressure, Captain; don't let up until the doctor gets here."

Those SHIELD employees were very punctual. Exactly nine minutes later, the doctor arrived. He quickly assessed the situation and began treatment.

"Does anyone know this man's blood type? He needs a transfusion," he said.

Everyone looked at each other awkwardly. Did Bruce even _have _a normal blood type?

"We don't know, sir," said Steve. "He's not exactly...um...normal."

"Yes, agent Romanoff explained his situation during our phone conversation. I was hoping one of you would have some extra insight. Oh, well. I brought O negative. Let's hope it takes."

He set up the transfusion (which _did _take, thank God), and then set to work suturing the injury. After he had finished (and washed his hands in the bathroom), he wrote down instructions for proper wound care. Tearing the page from his pad, he handed it to Tony, along with a bottle of pills. "See that you follow these. It's pretty basic stuff. Keep the wound clean. The stitches will dissolve on their own. No strenuous activity until they do. If there's any complications or signs of infection, call me. Otherwise, don't. Have a good night."

He left.

There was a brief moment of silence.

"Well," said Tony, into the suffocating quiet, "His bedside manner needs...some work."

Everyone in the room let out the breath they didn't know they'd been holding.

"So," said Steve, addressing the two assassins. "Would you two care to explain what you're doing here?"

* * *

The group moved into the lounge and arranged themselves on the furniture. When they were all comfortable, Clint began. "A few days ago," he said, "Before our mission, we noticed that Dr. Banner's hand was broken. When we asked about it, he lied. Badly. Combined with the getting-shot-in-the-head incident that came later, our curiosity was piqued."

"We tried to get some information out of him this morning," said Natasha. "But we were interrupted, and then he spent all day working on that creepy radiation ball. We were getting annoyed by our lack of progress on the problem."

She paused. "So, I may have told Clint to tail him, to see what he could find out."

Clint took over. "It was probably the most boring thing I've done this decade. He stayed in the lab 'til 3:30, then went to grab lunch in the cafeteria. Then back to the lab. While 'Tasha was taking him home, I set up shop next door. I had a pretty good view into this area." He added, "Whoever owns that building needs a better security system. And Stark, you need some curtains."

Steve interrupted. "Wait a minute. You were spying on me?"

"Well, no. I was spying on Banner. I just ended up watching you eat Thai food for an hour in the process."

Steve blushed.

"So," said Tony, "You just happened to be watching us from next door when all this shit went down?"

"Yeah, pretty much," replied Clint.

"Don't you think it would be appropriate to tell me when SHIELD is going to be surveilling my building? My place of residence?"

Natasha answered. "It wasn't SHIELD surveilling you. It was just us. And it's a damn good thing, too."

"Why do you say that?" asked Steve.

She hesitated. "What we saw today...combined with Banner's past actions...it doesn't look good."

Steven looked puzzled. "What past actions? And what the heck _happened _tonight, anyway?"

Clint said, "He told me that he broke his hand punching a lab table. I'm going to go out on a limb and say it wasn't an accidental, spur-of-the-moment thing?"

Tony nodded, reluctantly. "It's like this, Steve. When get hurt, your body releases these chemicals called endorphins. Basically, they're like your body's own painkillers. They keep you happy and calm when you're injured, so you don't panic, freak the fuck out, and die. Bruce figured out that if he injures himself when he's feeling angry, or panicked, or whenever he's about to transform, he can stop it."

"Stop the transformation?"

"Yeah. The endorphins cause euphoria, it combats the stress."

"Or prevents it," added Natasha. "The night of the mission, he couldn't transform because the injury to his hand was causing an endorphin rush, right? But why would shooting him help? If pain stops him from transforming...?"

"I think there's only so much stress the body can take. After a certain point, adrenaline wins out over endorphins, and he has to transform."

Steve said, "So, he knew he could stop the transformation tonight if he injured himself. But if he was _too _injured, he could have triggered a transformation instead. That seems awfully risky. Why would he take that kind of chance?"

Tony suspected it might be because Bruce's actions weren't quite as cool and logical as he liked to think they were. The physicist had explained himself as if his actions were completely rational and driven by science, but Tony had seen another side to his methods, had seen how Bruce's self-loathing lurked just beneath the surface, quiet and insidious and largely unacknowledged. He had seen a side of Bruce that would _want _to inflict a dangerous stab wound upon himself.

Out loud, though, all he said was, "Maybe he wasn't thinking clearly." Tony thought he could at least attempt to preserve a shred of Bruce's privacy.

"So, I believe that when these fine agents say, 'it doesn't look good,' Tony continued into the silence, "They mean that Bruce looks mentally unstable, like he's about to snap. And we can't have the rage monster snapping, right? It'd be a fucking PR disaster."

Natasha nodded. "Stark's right. If this got out, there are people who would want him locked up. Maybe more than locked up. Even Fury might not be able to protect him."

"Fury might not _want _to protect him," Tony muttered darkly, remembering bits and pieces of his conversation with the director.

Natasha glared at him. "Fury's a good man. But he's not the top of the food chain. And the people he reports to...they might not be so good."

"But what about that doctor?" Steve asked. "Seems like bringing him in was risky."

"He doesn't know exactly what happened. He's pretty bright, though, so he's probably guessed," answered Clint. "But there's a reason we called him. He's...trustworthy. Good for keeping secrets. He's kept a fair number of mine. He won't tell anyone anything."

Steve knew that if an assassin, whose life was defined by paranoia, trusted someone, then that person was trustworthy. "All right, then. I guess the real question is, 'what do we do, now?'"

It was Natasha who answered. "Dr. Banner is probably going to sleep through the night. I suggest the rest of us get some rest. I'll work a story to explain what happened to him, since they're expecting him back at SHIELD tomorrow and he's not going to make it. In the meantime, I think we need to get a handle on this."

"What do you mean?" asked Steve.

"Ideally? We get him to stop—"

"Doing stupid shit," Tony interjected.

"—acting out in a self-destructive manner," Natasha finished. "Even if it's just something he's doing to protect other people, it isn't healthy and it's got to stop."

Even if she didn't know the whole story, Tony could agree with her assessment.

"It's not like we can send him to a fucking shrink or something, 'Tasha," Clint said. "We're going for 'secret,' and good luck finding anyone who could both treat 'the Hulk' and keep their mouth shut about it."

She knew he had a point.

"I guess...it falls on us, then," said Steve. He tried not to let it show how intimidating he found that prospect. Nazis, demigods, alien invaders...those things were easy to handle. Dealing with a friend you'd just watched skewer himself? Significantly more difficult.

Clint and Natasha nodded their agreement. Tony shrugged.

He didn't think they knew the extent of the mess they were getting involved in.

* * *

It was fairly early in the morning when Bruce regained consciousness. He immediately wished he hadn't. His leg was throbbing, his stomach was churning, and he felt like he'd been dropped out of a helicopter.

Having experienced that before, he felt like an authority on the subject.

Bruce was surprised to discover he was alone. Usually, when someone regained consciousness after a dramatic incident in movies, his or her room was filled with concerned friends and family. Alternatively, there was sometimes one "special someone" sleeping in the chair next to the bed.

He lifted his head and looked towards the only chair in the room. Nope, definitely alone.

"Ah, good, sir, you are awake. I have informed Mr. Stark, and he will be here mo—"

Tony burst into the room.

"—mentarily," JARVIS finished.

With JARVIS around, Bruce supposed that one was never truly alone. He couldn't decide if that was creepy or comforting.

"You're awake," Tony observed, as if he hadn't already been informed as much by his AI. He looked like shit. He'd clearly just leapt out of bed—he was wearing pajama pants and a decrepit AC/DC t-shirt, hair ridiculously messy—but it didn't look like he'd been having much success sleeping, judging from the dark rings under his eyes.

Bruce nodded, as much as someone _can _nod while lying down.

"How do you feel?" Tony asked.

Bruce pulled himself laboriously into a sitting position and tried to say "fine," but found that his throat was doing a decent impression of the Sahara. Instead, he mimed drinking water, and hoped Tony was good at charades.

Actually, Tony was terrible at charades, but being reasonably intelligent (GENIUS, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist), got the idea anyway. He slipped into the bathroom and returned with a glass of water. Bruce took a long drink. Then, voice restored, he said, "I feel fi—"

"If you say 'fine,' I will probably throttle you." Calm. Empty. Completely truthful.

Bruce thought that was a touch unnecessary.

"Okay, then...my leg hurts and I feel like the odds are pretty good I'm going to puke this water up in about five minutes."

Tony tossed him an orange bottle. "These should help with at least part of that. Might make the other part worse, though."

Bruce missed catching the bottle completely, and it landed on the bed next to him. He picked it up saw it was acetaminophen with codeine. He sighed. Codeine did tend to make him nauseous.

Tony said, "The nice doctor who stopped you from bleeding to death left those. Man, he was something."

Bruce popped a couple of the pills in his mouth. He swallowed them with a sip of water.

Tony sat down in the lonely chair, crossing one leg over the other. "I think it's fair to warn you...that we had a talk while you were out.

Bruce didn't like the sound of that. "A talk about what?"

"About you. Since last time we had a talk about you things didn't go so well, I thought I'd get it out in the open early." Bruce smirked at the understatement, too tired and sore to do anything more. Tony continued, "You probably weren't aware that Clint was tailing you last night. He was watching from next door when you...you know."

What little color had been in Bruce's face left it.

Tony went on, "Anyway, he called Natasha, who called the guy who saved your life."

"I wasn't going to die, Tony. Remember?" Missing the flash of...something...in Tony's eyes, he plowed on through vocalizing this ill-advised thought. "Exsanguination is a no-go. I would have transformed as soon as my body thought it was in legitimate danger of...expiring."

Tony slammed his fist on the table next to him. "Damn it, Bruce, that's not the fucking _point_."

Bruce was momentarily shocked into silence.

"So...they know?" Bruce asked a moment later, chagrined.

"Most of it, yeah."

"Most of it?"

"Yeah. Bruce, can I ask you a question?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess?"

Tony looked for a moment as if he were deeply considering how, exactly, to put his thoughts into words. He settled for, "What the _fuck_?"

"I think...you might need to be more specific than that."

"Bullshit! You know exactly what I mean. Why the fuck would you _do _that?"

"I've _told _you, Tony. I had to stop the transformation—"

Tony interrupted, "No you didn't."

"...What?" Residual effects of the blood loss were clearly interfering with his higher cognitive functions.

"No, you didn't," Tony repeated. "Between me and Steve, we could have kept the situation under control. Fuck, Barton was right next door, Romanoff was a few blocks away. I'm sure we could have handled the situation. There might not have even _been_a situation. You don't know for sure that you would have gone on a rampage, or taken out a few city blocks, or attacked innocent people."

"No? Well, you're the expert. Why don't you tell me more about how gentle and cuddly the Other Guy is? Maybe you can get together with him later and braid each other's hair."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I'm not saying he's not dangerous, I'm just saying that...well," he gestured at Bruce's bandaged leg, "You seem to be going to some pretty extreme lengths to protect other people from something that might not happen."

"No _shit_, Tony," Bruce spat out. "Yeah, it might not happen, but it _has _happened, I _did _do those things, so yeah, I'm going to try to protect them. They're innocent. It's not their fault when a giant monster comes crashing into their lives. It's mine. My fucked up experiment, my disregard of protocol, my mistakes. Mine. And I'm not going to let other people pay for my mistakes, I'm not going to let them suffer when..." he stopped.

Tony finished for him. "When you're the one who deserves it."

Bruce sighed and closed his eyes. "Yeah. When I'm the one who deserves it."

_Now we're getting somewhere_, Tony thought.

* * *

(1) Bruce's blood is portrayed as poisonous in _The Incredible Hulk_. I don't particularly agree with that, and so eliminated it.

I felt I was getting a little melodramatic in this chapter, so...I embraced that feeling and ran away with it. My apologies.

Thanks to my reviewers. Did I mention that reviews drastically improve my quality of life? I ran a statistical analysis, it's indisputable.

Next chapter: Tony and Bruce finish up their conversation, Thor shows up (finally!). Still in the planning stage, unfortunately, so it might take a bit longer than normal. Then again, I'm unemployed and swimming in free time and insomnia, so who knows?


	8. Aliens

Warnings: mild language, aliens.

Everything I know about Svartálfaheimr, I learned from a single Wikipedia article. This mostly included the name of the realm and that its occupants are sometimes—though not always—called dwarves. Creative liberties abound.

I own nothing. Well, next to nothing.

Many thanks to irite for looking this chapter over and catching my awkward run on sentences and ambiguous pronouns!

* * *

Thor had a bad feeling when Odin told him that a messenger from Svartálfaheimr had arrived.

It wasn't that Asgard was unfriendly with the dwarves. They just were not exactly _friendly, _either.

Thor's feelings of unease had only intensified upon hearing the messenger's tidings. As it turned out, one of the king's young relatives had a toy, a trifle, really, of which he was rather fond. The item was magical and could shape shift into whatever the young prince desired. Some time ago, this favored toy had gone missing. The youngster was inconsolable, and his grief was difficult for his elders to bear.

At this point, Thor believed that the messenger was attempting to convey that the prince was being an irritating nuisance, but was unable—per his station in life—to say as much quite so bluntly.

The king, the messenger said, was willing and able to go to any lengths to find this item, and had, in fact, organized an unusually large retrieval effort. The messenger was oddly specific on this point.

Thor thought the prince must be quite annoying, indeed.

The messenger did not explicitly accuse the Asgardians of stealing the item. He was not a fool. Instead, he said that he was just informing them of the item's loss, and asked that they let them know if they learned anything of its whereabouts. After all, these two realms had existed in relative peace for many lifetimes. The king's wrath was great, though, and his determination to see this item returned would not be daunted.

Certainly, Thor thought as he strode through the halls of the palace, this was much ado about nothing. Who cared for the playthings of a prince? At the same time, though, there was something about this that did not sit right with him. Seemingly harmless mischief had a funny way of becoming, oftentimes unexpectedly, much less amusing.

That was the key word, Thor realized. Mischief. Turning abruptly on his heel, he headed in the opposite direction, through winding corridors and down several flights of stairs, until he was standing outside the dungeon cell that had become Loki's home after his return from Midgard.

The problem with Loki was, quite frankly, that no one knew what to do with him. Despite his heinous crimes, neither Thor nor Odin would see him executed. Torture was equally unsavory. Banishment, they suspected, would yield little result with someone so disaffected and disconnected from any sense of belonging. So now he existed, stripped of his magic, in a small, stone room, completely alone, except for a single guard who was forbidden to speak to him. Odin said that he was still trying to think of a fitting punishment, but Thor suspected (and Loki agreed with him, though he would not deign to speak his thoughts to that oaf) that Odin intended to leave him alone in this place for millennia.

"Brother," said Thor, after excusing the guard, "I would have a word with you."

Loki was seated on what passed as his bed, head bent down, hands folded in his lap. He did not look up or acknowledge Thor's presence.

Thor sighed. Perhaps this was futile. Still, he had walked so far to come here, he might as well give the speech he had prepared.

"We have had news from Svartálfar. It seems that one of the princes has lost a treasured plaything."

Loki did not move, but for a minute change in his posture. Thor could not be certain, but he believed he had caught his brother's attention.

"The prince is quite distraught, and his displeasure has made the king quite eager to see the return of this object. Indeed, I believe he may be willing to go to war to retrieve it, unless I vastly misunderstood the messenger."

"Well," Loki said dryly, and Thor nearly jumped out of his skin, his brother's voice had been so unexpected. "It certainly would not be the first time you vastly misunderstood something."

Through the darkness and gloom, Thor could see that his brother was looking, for the first time since his inglorious return, straight at him. And he was grinning in a feral, dangerous way that Thor did not like. Not one bit.

"Loki," Thor said, "Do you know where this trifle has gone?"

Loki's grin turned into an open, mocking sneer. "Oh, Thor. So naive. And _trusting_! This 'trifle' of which you speak is not a 'trifle,' no, not at all. And I know _exactly _where it's gone."

Thor's heart sank.

Loki's laughter echoed down the empty corridors.

* * *

Tony and Bruce sat together in a half-companionable, half-awkward silence. Neither one knew what to say.

Bruce had been shocked by his admission—that he thought he deserved to suffer. The words had come forth without conscious thought, but now that he had heard them, he knew it had been the truth.

Tony had not been shocked. He had seen the casual disregard Bruce had for his own well-being, and he knew it stemmed from deeply ingrained self-loathing. He could so easily recognize in Bruce that darkness that had long existed within himself. That same self-loathing had fueled so many of his own stupidly reckless actions in the past. Like flying a nuclear weapon into space or attempting to photograph Natasha in the shower.

"So, what happens now?" Bruce asked, breaking the silence.

His words brought to mind Steve's similar question from the previous night, and Tony remembered that he still hadn't told Bruce everything about the conversation they'd had without him. "Um, about that."

"Tony?"

"Look, Bruce. You can't keep doing this shit." Shit, there was that bluntness again, without even the excuse of alcohol to explain it. God, he needed to work on being more tactful.

At least Bruce only looked mildly offended.

"I mean," he amended, "It's dangerous. Maybe not to you. Or, it is. But maybe not to your health. At least your immediate health. Fuck, what I mean is, no one likes a rage monster with emotional problems."

Now Bruce looked significantly more offended. "I don't have emotional prob—"

Tony shot him a _look_, managing to interrupt him without even speaking. "Let me try that again," he said. "People think you're dangerous—"

"That's because I _am _dangerous." Blunt, but not angry. That was good.

"And some people want you...detained," Tony barreled on, determined to just get this over with. Bruce nodded. This was old news. "Doing shit like breaking your hand, slicing your femoral artery...those things make you look," he paused, "unstable."

Bruce surprised Tony with a sharp bark of laughter. "Oh, God, wow. I'm not even sure what to do with that statement."

Tony was miffed, because he'd been being serious. "I don't see what's so funny."

Bruce sobered. "No, I guess you wouldn't. It's just..." he drifted into silence.

"Just what?" Tony asked after a moment.

"I'm not sure 'irony' is the right word here, but let's go with it. I occasionally turn into a rampaging green monster and take out entire neighborhoods in a matter of minutes. That's fine. But _this_," he gestured at his leg, "makes me look unstable? Really?"

Tony had to admit, he had a point. But... "Different kind of unstable. I think it's the combination of the two that's really going to make people uncomfortable."

Bruce shook his head. "It's just...I think you guys are overreacting. I don't think it's a problem. It's not going to _be _a problem, I'm handling it."

Tony couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Uh...no, you're not. Do you really believe that? Look. You never know when you're going to be provoked, when _I _might piss you off, I mean, fuck, I do it all the time, I never know when I should just stop talking, I just keep going _all the time_. Another incident like last night...we got lucky. _You_got lucky." He took a breath, and then finished, "Don't you get it? If they think you're a threat, they will hunt you down and lock you up, or worse. And we...I... can't let that happen."

Bruce considered Tony's words, scowling. But, after a moment, he said reluctantly. "...Fine. What do you propose, then?"

* * *

"Father," Thor said, entering Odin's chambers, "I believe we have a...situation."

Odin indicated that Thor should take a seat. "What troubles you, my son?"

"The messenger from Svartálfaheimr has deceived us. It is no trinket for which they search, but an immensely powerful weapon, for which they will scour the edges of infinity to find and retrieve," Thor said in a rush.

Odin looked thoughtful. "I had my suspicions, of course, that the dwarves should threaten us with war over something as insignificant as a child's plaything. Still, from where has this information come?"

"I spoke to Loki. Something in the situation seemed to bear his signature, so I sought him out. It was he who informed me of the true nature of the object the dwarves seek."

"I see," said Odin. "And how did Loki come by this information?" He had a sinking feeling that he already knew, but he wanted to hear the words that would confirm his fear.

"Father...Loki spirited it away during the time we thought him dead, and he has used his magic to send it towards Midgard. The chances are very good, he tells me, that it has already arrived. The Midgardians will be unable to contain its power, and worse, the dwarves will believe that it was they who committed the theft."

Odin took a moment to seriously consider drastically diminishing the dimensions of Loki's holding cell, or perhaps replacing his cot with a hard, particularly straight-backed chair. Or both.

He shook himself out of his musings. "Was it his intention to bring about a war between Midgard and Svartálfaheimr?"

"I know not, father. It seems unlikely. For he intended to rule there, and a war with the dwarves would have been most inconvenient."

Odin nodded. Thor continued, "I think it more likely that he intended to harness the weapon for his own use, perhaps against the Jötunn, or more likely, against Asgard."

"Thor, this is an unpleasant business. For the second time in just a short while, Loki has threatened the safety of the people of Midgard. We must quell this situation before a war is ignited between two realms. You _must _go to Midgard, and warn them of the threat they face."

"Of course, father, but..."

"Yes?"

"I can warn them about the dwarves, of course, and I can fight if it comes to that, but I know little of the magic this weapon contains. It is completely foreign to me. I fear I will be without use, or worse."

"Unknown magic is dangerous, true," said Odin. He paused. "From your words, it seems as if Loki has knowledge of this object that may prove useful."

"Yes, father, it seems that way," Thor agreed, cautiously.

"Then...perhaps...without his magic, he poses little threat. Certainly, he would be no match for you, nor these 'Avengers' of whom you have spoken so admiringly. If he accompanied you, his skills would be put to good use. Yes...I think this will have to do."

Thor knew better than to question his father's wisdom, but this plan seemed ill-advised at best. One could find few ventures more futile than trying to force Loki to do anything he did not want to, and Thor suspected that helping the inhabitants of Midgard was not high on his list of priorities. Nevertheless, he left to tell Loki of these developments, and that he would soon be freed.

Odin wondered if this had been Loki's intention all along.

* * *

"Come on," Tony said, standing. "I think we should get the rest of the guys together to talk about what I propose."

Bruce suddenly found the sheets on his bed immensely fascinating, from the way he began fiddling with them. "Is that...necessary? I mean, getting everyone involved?"

Tony fought an urge to roll his eyes, or laugh, or both. He knew that neither response would be welcome or helpful. "Bruce, they're already involved. Rogers and Barton saw what happened, and Romanoff's running interference and keeping a lid on this. If anything, you owe it to them to be honest."

Bruce didn't see it that way, but Tony had a funny habit of always getting his way. Resistance was futile.

Tony moved towards the door.

"Wait! Before we...how much did you tell them? Anything?"

Tony shook his head. "Not much. I told them about the endorphins. I had some of my own theories, but I kept them to myself. I'm not one to go off on half-baked ideas."

The relief Bruce felt was evident on his face. "Really, Tony? No half-baked ideas, _ever_?"

Tony certainly had no idea what Bruce could be referencing. "Of course not."

Despite Bruce's teasing, Tony could see the anxiety he was still feeling written clearly in his body language. His movements were small, guarded.

Bruce moved slowly to stand.

And was promptly reminded that he had a thigh full of sutures, when the sharp pain emanating from his thigh surprised him into tipping back over onto the bed.

"Fuck, Bruce, I'm sorry, I'll be right back," Tony said, and slipped from the room. He returned a moment later with a pair of crutches. Bruce took them gratefully. Carefully standing up, he took in his attire for the first time, and blushed. He'd been sitting here, talking to Tony while wearing only his blood-stained boxers and an Iron Man t-shirt that had seen better days, for _how _long?

"Um...maybe I could shower, first. And change."

Tony, catching his own reflection in the mirror over Bruce's dresser, found that he was quite amenable to that suggestion.

* * *

Bruce had done some pretty difficult things in his life. For example, attaining a PhD in physics had been a daunting, draining, lengthy challenge. Surviving for years in third-world countries alone had also been quite hard. Running from the military had been a struggle as well.

However, all of that paled in comparison to the difficulty of trying to take a shower without getting his stitches wet.

In the end, he had to concede defeat. He washed his hair leaning over the bathtub, and took care of the worst of the remaining blood and grime on his body with several washcloths. He sighed. At least it was only 36 more hours until he could take a proper shower.

Reasonably clean, he hobbled out of the bathroom to find something comfortable and easy to put on. Preferably something stretchy. He deposited his other clothes in the garbage on the way by.

Outside, he saw it had begun to storm.

With great effort (JARVIS offered to summon assistance, but Bruce thought he might rather die), he was soon dressed in a plain grey t-shirt and Captain America pajama pants. He wasn't sure where all these things came from. He supposed Pepper might have an odd sense of humor, but it seemed more likely Tony had been slowly replacing all of his clothes, and he'd just now started to notice.

He made his way out of his room and down the hall, past the kitchen and into the lounge. It was, blessedly, empty. He settled down onto the couch, propped his leg on an ottoman, closed his eyes, and promptly began trying to disappear before anyone else showed up.

When Clint and Natasha sauntered in five minutes later, Bruce hadn't made much progress towards his goal. He was, in fact, still completely visible. Steve was the next to arrive, followed by Tony a good fifteen minutes later.

Bruce wondered if the billionaire ever hurried for anything.

Clint had turned the TV on to the History Channel, which was showing some special about how aliens had impacted cultural developments around the world. Clint thought it was a solid premise—after all, he personally knew a couple of aliens who had impacted cultural developments around the world—but the execution really left something to be desired. For example, sanity.

For several minutes after the group had assembled, the only sound in the room came from the television. Clint and Natasha were seemingly engrossed in the program. Steve was watching Tony, trying to get a read on what he should be expecting. Tony was watching Bruce, who was wedged into a corner of the sofa with his eyes resolutely closed.

Tony cleared his throat and looked at Bruce expectantly. Instantly, Natasha and Clint were staring at him as well, intensely focused. Steve jumped, startled by the noise. Bruce, with great reluctance, opened his eyes. His attempt at invisibility, or at the very least translocation, had failed. He sighed.

Best that he man up and get this over with, then.

He hadn't really thought of what he was going to say, and felt a little bit like Tony had hung him out to dry. He cleared his throat, re-adjusted how his leg was resting, and cleared his throat again. He was in the process of actually forming a word, when, with rather less grandeur and ceremony than one might expect a god to necessitate, Thor strode into the room.

And he had his brother with him.

Joy.

* * *

Please review. If you don't, I feel like a miserable failure.

Seriously, though, I've never written fiction before, and I'd like to know how I'm doing. You know, in case I should just quit.


	9. Saving the World with Science

I struggled immensely with this chapter, so fair warning, it's kind of rough.

Warnings: language, brief mention of self-injury, Loki. I think Loki should always come with a warning.

I do not own the Avengers.

* * *

"Um, security breach?" Tony said, in a hopeless, resigned way. He had always felt that no one else took these things seriously.

Steve was the first to act, standing up slowly, positioning himself in case he needed to do...something. He didn't know quite what he might have to do, but it was best to be prepared. No one else moved or spoke.

Then, a knife flashed through the air and lodged itself in the wall less than an inch from Loki's ear. The trickster didn't flinch or move, just cast his eyes to the side, watching the knife's handle as it quivered into stillness. He then took a minute step closer to Thor.

Tony glared at Clint, who didn't even have the decency to look chagrined. "Thanks, man, I really needed a knife sticking out of my wall. It adds to the decor. Would you like to add anything else? Bullet holes, maybe, or an arrow?"

Clint shrugged.

Turning to Thor, Tony said, "You'd better start explaining. As you can see, this many tense superheroes in one place could get ugly pretty damn fast."

Thor thought it extraordinarily odd that they were all in one place. He had returned to Stark Tower, as it was one of the few destinations on Midgard where he knew he could find a friendly face. He'd known that Stark could help him get into contact with the people he needed to see. He had not expected to find the entire team assembled.

It was actually quite convenient.

"I bring...tidings," he began, cautiously. "My brother has, I fear, brought further mischief to your world."

_Mischief?_ Tony thought. _Is that what they call hundreds of lives lost and billions of dollars in structural damages_?

Loki smirked, as if he could hear Tony's thoughts. Tony barely resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at him. _Mature, Stark, really fucking mature._

"Well," said Steve, struggling to regain his equilibrium. He fell back on his 1940's manners. "If you're going to stay a while, why don't you have a seat?"

Thor decided that seemed agreeable, and perched on an ottoman where he looked awkwardly large and out of place. Loki opted to lean casually against the wall instead, with a vague concern for maintaining his advantageous perspective.

With a deep breath, Thor launched into his explanation, beginning with the messenger from Svartálfaheimr and his attempt at deception. He told them of how Loki had confessed to stealing the weapon and sending it to Midgard. He took the time to go into great detail about how his brother had been stripped of his magic by the Allfather, and currently posed no threat. It seemed important that he make that clear, if only so no more weapons were thrown. He ended with Odin's orders to do what he could to prevent a war between the two realms.

As Thor was speaking, Bruce was only half-listening. He was, perhaps irrationally, pleased by this turn of events. Sure, having Loki back on Earth was terrifying, even if he had been, supposedly, neutralized (though Bruce had serious doubts that the 'God of Mischief' could ever be truly neutralized). And the prospect of war with another realm was certainly ominous. But this whole fiasco had distracted the team from their original reason for convening. Bruce thought that, with some careful maneuvering, he could escape this situation all together.

When Thor was finished his speech, the room was once again enveloped in silence.

"So, I've just got this feeling. A really fucking bad one," said Tony, after a moment. "This weapon, it's a small, glowing, massively radioactive ball, am I right?"

Thor said, "I know not. I have never laid eyes upon it. Perhaps my brother knows...?"

Loki did not know what "radioactive" meant. Still, he replied, "Indeed. At least, in its inactive form it could be described as such."

Tony nodded, surprised that Loki had answered at all, and in a civil manner no less. Bruce, Natasha, and Clint, though, did not seem so impressed. They were all wearing matching facial expressions: dawning horror.

"Christ," said Clint. "If they come looking for that thing, they're going to find it. Right in SHIELD's headquarters. Right in the fucking _lab_."

Steve and Thor's expressions morphed to match the others'.

"But, if we know where it is, can't you just take it back to them?" Steve said, after a moment.

Loki shook his head, sneering, "No, we cannot. Transporting such an object requires a great deal of magic. And, as far as I know, you are unfortunately without a sorcerer of that magnitude. I could have done it at one point, of course, but alas, no longer. Pity."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Will the dwarves be able find it, though?" she asked. "If they're looking all over the universe for it, it doesn't seem like they've got any means of tracking its location."

"Oh, I assure you," said Loki, his words colored with disdain, "They will be able to find it. Once they're in the correct realm, it will only be a matter of time. And there's only nine realms to get through."

"He's right," added Bruce. "The amount of energy that thing is throwing off makes it a beacon. Not to mention the energy is unique, completely different from anything else I've ever seen. If anyone's looking for it, it'll stick out. But..."

"But what?" asked Tony.

"It's currently stored in that container SHIELD provided, right? That blocks the energy from escaping. It might buy us some time, depending on how sensitive their detection is."

Tony nodded. The non-scientifically inclined took that as a good sign.

"Here's an idea," Clint threw out. "Why don't we just let them come here and take it? Tell them that douchebag," he pointed at Loki, "Stole it and sent it here? We're innocent, there's no reason for them to go all war-and-destruction on us."

Loki, uncertain of what a "douchebag" was, nevertheless felt he had been insulted. "Certainly, that's a wonderful idea. Except they will believe you are lying. And any race who would lie to avoid a war, instead of taking ownership of their actions, is a weak, cowardly sort that deserves only to be put down. They would feel no qualms about slaughtering you all."

Well, that idea was a bust.

"Have you been to see Fury?" Natasha asked, somehow making it clear that she was addressing Thor and ignoring Loki completely.

"No. I fear that I do not know where to find him."

Clint stood up, glaring daggers at Loki. "Well, we'd better head over to SHIELD before he hears that Loki's back and flips his fucking lid," he said.

Natasha stood up to follow him. Turning to Bruce, she said, "Do you have your notes on the weapon? I'd like to have something to show Fury."

"Yeah," he said, "They might not be much use, though. It's all preliminary stuff, and I didn't know it was even a weapon I was looking at. And...they're not exactly...legible. But they're in my bag, I can grab them." He struggled to his feet, leaning heavily against the couch, then the wall, for leverage.

"Dr. Banner! You're injured!" Thor exclaimed, noticing the crutches leaning against the wall and the awkward way Bruce had pulled himself upright. "How did this happen? Was there a battle?"

"Uh...no. It was an accident, that's all." Tony looked like he was going to say something, but Bruce cut him off. "I'm fine, really."

Thor began to say something about the fragility of mortals, but Natasha and Clint were herding him and Loki out the door, and Bruce didn't really catch it. He figured that was okay; it probably would have really annoyed him.

"Just an accident, hey?" Tony said, after the elevator doors had closed. "That's cute. Hey, who wants a drink?"

Bruce felt a headache coming on.

* * *

Bruce sipped slowly on the glass of scotch Tony had insisted on pouring for him. It was only about ten o'clock in the morning, but that hadn't daunted Tony in the least. He had justified his actions, saying that he deserved a drink after having a psychopathic demigod in his house. ALSO, it was Saturday, so day drinking was perfectly acceptable.

Out of courtesy, Bruce pretended he hadn't noticed how Tony's hands had been shaking as he poured their drinks.

At least Steve looked uncomfortable, too, Bruce thought. The level in his glass had barely gone down.

Luckily, Tony was drinking enough to make up for their reluctance. He had knocked back his first drink in two swallows and quickly poured himself a second. That one lasted a bit longer. Almost five minutes, in fact.

After his third, Tony noticed that Steve hadn't touched his, and so he took that as his fourth. Bruce's was commandeered as his fifth.

"Tony," Steve said, easily wrestling the bottle from Tony's hand as the man tried to pour himself his sixth drink in forty-five minutes, "You shouldn't be drinking so much."

"Yeah? And Bruce shouldn't test the _fucking_ cutlery on his _fucking _quadriceps, but none of us are _fucking _perfect," Tony snarled.

_That was a bit harsh_, Bruce thought. Of course, he could understand Tony's anxiety. Loki had, after all, thrown him out a window. Bruce didn't imagine he'd welcome anyone into his home who had thrown _him _from a window. And it was entirely possible they were going to be working with Loki, unless Fury decided to otherwise contain him. In fact, now that he was thinking about it, he found that alcohol was sounding like a better and better idea.

And that was saying something, because he knew that alcohol was a _terrible _idea.

Bruce was deep into musing on the pros and cons of having liquor for breakfast when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw that he had a text message from Natasha that said, 'forgot to grab your notes. fury wants you here NOW.' He sighed and heaved to his feet. Well, foot.

"Duty calls," he said. "Time to save the world with science."

"Oooooh," said Tony, momentarily abandoning his quest for drink number six. "I want to come!"

Bruce knew that Tony was barely welcome at SHIELD sober. He suspected that a drunk Tony would probably end up in a holding cell. Maybe with Loki. That could actually be hilarious. But...

"I think you should sit this one out," Steve said. "I'll make sure Dr. Banner gets there in one piece."

* * *

Apparently, when Clint and Natasha had brought Loki into the building, it had set off every alarm in the place. All of the employees had evacuated, and they were just starting to get that fiasco cleared up when Bruce and Steve arrived. A friendly administrative assistant had directed them to Fury's office, where the director was at the tail end of what looked to have been a glorious lecture.

"Next time you bring a mass-motherfucking-murderer into the headquarters of the most powerful government agency in the world," Fury said, "Call me! Okay? And you!" He turned to face Loki, who had been sitting on his desk, looking very innocent and contrite. "Get off my fucking desk."

"Am I, uh, interrupting?" Bruce asked, knowing full well that he was.

Fury looked at Bruce, noticing the crutches and how fatigued he looked. Filing it away for later, he said, "What do you know about this thing, Banner?"

"Well, I don't know much. Just that it's emitting radiation that's higher energy than gamma rays, and that shouldn't be possible. That alone has a lot of implications. I mean, gamma rays are so high-energy that they can actually create matter. So, if this radiation has _more _energy, then..." Bruce trailed off.

Fury nodded and turned to Thor. "What does your brother know about this? Can he get it off our planet?"

Thor hesitated. "He has said he cannot. But...Loki is not always truthful."

"No shit," said Fury. "God of Lies, yeah, I got it. Okay, here's what we're going to do. Rogers, Thor, We need to work on this on three levels. First, we need to work on some kind of diplomatic response. Then we need to work on a less diplomatic response, if diplomacy doesn't work out. I've got a funny feeling it won't. Third, we need to find a way to get this thing off our planet, or neutralize it, or something, if it's as dangerous as you've said it is. Banner, take Loki down to the labs and see what you can make of it."

Bruce wasn't really one to sputter, but it was a close call. "Director? Do you really think...?"

Loki said, "Don't worry, _Dr. Banner_. I will, how do they say it? 'Play nice.'"

Bruce did not find much comfort in that.

* * *

In the end, Steve and Thor escorted Bruce and Loki to the lab. Bruce got to work immediately, fiddling with machinery and getting the computers set up, anything to avoid the immense awkwardness of the situation in which he now found himself. Maneuvering through the lab with crutches was quite difficult, and he nearly tripped a half-dozen times in the first ten minutes.

Loki sat quietly on a chair, as far away from Bruce as he could manage to get. That man was injury and chaos waiting to happen. And while Loki generally approved of those things, he preferred to be the cause of them, not the recipient.

Satisfied that the pair wasn't in any immediate danger of killing each other, Steve and Thor headed back upstairs.

Bruce worked in silence for a bit over an hour. When Loki spoke, Bruce jumped. He'd forgotten the demigod was there. Almost. His presence had receded to a vague humming of anxiety in the back of his mind.

"You know, Banner, you are a terrible liar. Granted, there are few I have encountered across the realms whose skills in that area I would commend. You are more dismal than most, though, I fear."

"You might want to reconsider startling me. Just a thought," Bruce said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

"Ah, yes. Of course. We would not want to unleash the _monster._"

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that wouldn't go well. For you. From what I've heard, anyway."

Silence reigned again.

"So, is there any reason you couldn't just take this thing, leave it in this box, and realm-jump with it?" Bruce asked, a few moments later. He figured it would be best to make sure he wasn't overlooking a really simple solution.

Loki paused in a way that Bruce _really _didn't like, before saying, "Of course there is a reason. And I will tell you, _if _you tell me why you lied to my dear 'brother.'"

"Don't know what you mean," Bruce said. He was trying to tweak a gamma ray spectrometer to measure the alien radiation. It wasn't going well.

"You leg was not injured in battle. That was true. But it was not an accident."

Bruce leaned back from his work bench with an irritated huff. He had some extremely unfriendly thoughts about aliens and alien weapons, followed by some equally unfriendly thoughts about this _particular _alien. Which was followed by some really colorful thoughts about alien invasions, and superheroes, and saving the world.

Loki watched as Bruce frowned and clenched his jaw, before picking up a screwdriver to prod rather ineffectually at the piece of equipment in front of him.

"Banner, I am bored. And curious. _And _I have information you need."

Bruce slammed the screwdriver on the table. It was Loki's turn to jump, although he quickly recovered. "All right," Bruce said, quietly, knowing that there was almost certainly someone watching surveillance of the room. "I stabbed myself with a paring knife. Now, why can't you just cart this off to some other, preferably non-Earth, place? Like, back to Svartálfaheimr."

"Interesting. Was that so hard, Banner?"

The physicist growled. "Your. Turn."

"Very well. _I _currently cannot take anything anywhere. Thor could do it easily enough, I suppose. Now," Loki lowered his voice, "Why, pray tell, did you stab yourself with a 'paring knife?'"

Bruce didn't like being played, but now he was curious. And irritated. He decided to go with it for awhile. "Pain prevents the Other Guy from taking over. Why did you lie earlier, about being able to move this thing?"

"Simple. I do not wish for the dwarves to possess it. Is that really the best way you have found to control that beast?"

Bruce paused, then shrugged. "It works. Why don't you want the dwarves to have this thing?"

I am not enamored with their plans for it."

"Which are?"

Loki made a tutting sound. "Ah, ah, Dr. Banner. It is not your turn."

Impatiently, Bruce said (marveling momentarily at his own audacity), "Come on, you psycho, the fate of the world is at stake here! Can't we lay off the games?"

Loki smirked. "The fate of your realm matters little to me. It will bring me neither power nor amusement. This, at least, is amusing. Albeit, I imagine, fleetingly." He took a moment to bask in the frustration rolling off the physicist. How he loved to annoy people! "Now..." he gestured at Bruce's leg, "That must have taken a lot of willpower." If Loki was honest with himself, the idea of doing something like that made him a touch nauseous. "How did you do it?"

"It wasn't that hard," Bruce said, "Since the alternative was killing my friends."

"Surely you don't value their lives so much more than your own?"

Something akin to amusement flashed across the physicist's face, and he gave a pained chuckle. "We're _so_ not going there. And it's not your turn. Tell me, Loki, what's the dwarves' plan for this thing?"

"Yes, Loki," came Fury's voice from the door behind them. He was flanked by the rest of the Avengers, included a half-drunk, half-hungover Tony. "What _do _the dwarves have planned?"

Bruce wondered how long they'd been standing there.

* * *

I can't help but feel that my plot is getting in the way of my angst.

The good news (or bad, I guess, depending on your perspective) is that I know how this is going to end. The bad news (or good) is that I have no idea how long it's going to take to get there.

The next chapter might take a while. I've been discouraged and writer's block-y.

Please review.


	10. Comforting Leashes

It's come to my attention that what I've been calling Svartálfar for god knows how many chapters at this point should actually be "Svartálfaheimr." "Svartálfar" refers to the inhabitants of Svartálfaheimr, that is, dwarves. I've gone back and edited it.

Warnings: language, brief self-injury.

I do not own the Avengers. I just wish I did.

Many thanks to my beta, irite, for calling me out when I use the same word 56 times in a paragraph.

* * *

Bruce didn't particularly like the look Fury was giving him. It was calculating, and he felt momentarily like he was a particularly troubling specimen under a microscope. Perhaps a culture of methicillin-resistant _Staphylococcus aureus_, or something equally unfortunate.

_Stop with the biology metaphors, Bruce, they're terrible_, he thought to himself.

_Actually_, his mind continued, unbidden, _that was a simile_.

Still, the director didn't say anything to him, just repeated his question to Loki, with much less patience the second time through. "What. Are. They. Planning."

The other Avengers were looking between Bruce and Loki, as if one or both of them had suddenly sprouted a second head. Bruce, who had been on the receiving end of that look about a thousand times in the last week, shrugged it off. _Whatever._

Loki, though, heaved a sigh. "Very well, director. Since you seem determined to see that I shall be bored to _death_, I shall oblige you. Perhaps I should begin with what this item actually does."

Fury looked like he was struggling very hard not to strangle the demigod. His hands were clenched, as if he were imagining Loki's throat in his grasp. "Yeah, maybe you should do that."

"Very well. On a very basic level, I suppose you could say that it creates chaos."

"So, what," said Steve, "It's a bomb? It explodes?"

"No. It is far more interesting than that." Loki paused, gathering his thoughts, trying to think of how to explain this to these simple mortals. "There are...rules that govern the realms. The rules are not necessarily the same between realms, but all realms _have_rules."

"Rules? Like what, gravity?" Tony asked.

Loki looked puzzled.

Bruce stepped in. "It means, basically, that when you throw something up in the air, it comes down again. That's gravity."

"Ah. I see. I suppose that may fit." He paused again, testing to see if anyone else had some brilliant insight they wanted to offer. With none offered, he continued, "These rules define the different worlds. And they ensure their stability. The rules can be bent, although doing so often has repercussions. The object that the dwarves seek, however, can _break _the rules. And breaking the laws governing a single realm will result in chaos that will ripple across the entirety of existence."

The idea of that kind of chaos sent a shiver down Loki's spine.

"Well, that's great," said Fury. "Just great. And what the actual _fuck _are they hoping to accomplish by destabilizing reality?"

"Do they need to hope to accomplish something? I imagine it would be quite interesting in and of itself," said Loki.

Everyone glared at him. Clint began fingering the throwing knives on his belt menacingly.

"Very well," Loki continued, rather hastily. These humans were _touchy_. "One of the most basic rules of most of the realms is that time moves forward. It does so evenly, touching all things equally. The king of Svartálfaheimr wishes to use this item to selectively slow down time, or perhaps stop it, in such a way as to drastically increase his already-considerable lifespan."

Everyone thought about that for a moment.

"You said it was a weapon," Steve pointed out.

"Did I?" said Loki, looking very innocent. "Well, I suppose it might as well be one, because the dwarf king _will _fail to contain its power, and he _will _destabilize all of reality, etc., etc., etc."

"_And _they're going to kill us all to get it back," Tony added helpfully.

"Yes, there's that," agreed Loki amiably.

"What I don't get," said Fury, ignoring their exchange, "Is how the hell did you get all tied up in this?"

"I spent some time on Svartálfaheimr, after...Anyway, I came to know their king rather well. He is," Loki paused for breath, "a fool and a tyrant. His first born son and heir will make a better ruler, and the sooner he ascends to the throne the better." Loki's voice was harsh, and his words held no sign of his usual mockery or disdain.

"Why do you say this, brother?" Thor asked. Certainly Asgard had never taken issue with the dwarf king before. Why did Loki find him so odious?

But Loki just glared and said, "I will not speak on this matter further, Thor. You now know all that I do, and you know your options. Attempt to hide this object and you risk the continued existence of the entirety of reality. Hand it over and the result is the same, but you will expose yourselves to war first. Do nothing, and the outcome does not change."

Bruce, personally, thought that those were some pretty terrible options.

"Or," Tony spoke up, "We destroy this stupid piece of shit, and kick those dwarves' asses back to their own planet...dimension...thing. What about that as an option? I mean, it wouldn't be the first alien invasion we prevented. And how hard can it be to get rid of the magical ball of doom?"

"Well," said Bruce, slowly, considering, "If I so much as open the container, everyone within a half-mile radius will probably be completely obliterated. Things further away will mutate and spontaneously combust. So...pretty hard, I think."

Tony waved that off. "Whatever. That's secondary. We'll think of something. What do you guys say?"

There were a lot of raised eyebrows, and no one looked especially enthusiastic. But Fury said, "I might be able to sell the idea of another alien war to the council. Well, if the alternative is certain death and the destruction of reality, anyway."

* * *

When Fury headed upstairs to wrangle with the council, Tony grabbed the wheeled lab chair Bruce was sitting on and rolled him aside. "I need to talk to you. Let's take a walk."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Not really feeling up to walking today, Tony," he said dryly, with a rueful look at his crutches.

"Oh, shit, yeah, I forgot. Well, let's go grab a snack, then."

Bruce was amenable to snacking.

Once they were settled in the cafeteria, eating pop tarts and drinking crappy vending machine coffee (Tony vowed to buy SHIELD a decent espresso machine...or a Starbucks franchise), Bruce surprised Tony by taking charge of the conversation.

"How much did you guys hear, earlier? Fury was looking at me like I was MRSA."

Tony took a minute to puzzle that out. He decided, after a second, that it was futile to try and understand what that was supposed to mean. He opted to just answer Bruce's question. "Uh, I think everything after the part where you called Loki a 'psycho.' He did his little rant about how he doesn't care about our world...yeah, that seems about right."

"Ah," said Bruce. "So, Fury...?"

"_Probably _doesn't know what you two were talking about, with the 'how did you manage to do that,' 'I didn't want to kill my friends' thing, but it won't take him long to figure it out."

"Fuck." Eloquent, as always.

"So, yeah, that kinda brings me to the next point," Tony said. "Loki...he kinda hit the nail on the head. You do value all of our lives more than your own. And...I think...well, really,..."

Bruce looked as if he couldn't wait for the day that Tony would get to the point, even though he suspected he knew what the point was, and he didn't like it.

Tony decided to try another angle. "You've really gotten into this, haven't you? This whole saving-the-world thing."

That was a bit off-putting. "...Yeah?"

"Oh, well, it's just...I thought you didn't want to do that anymore."

It took Bruce a minute to figure out what Tony was talking about. "Oh. Well, this is just science stuff. It's different. No 'Hulk,' no smash, no imminent danger to everything around me. Which means a drastically reduced potential for soul-crushing anxiety, guilt, and self-loathing. Of course, it's still a possibility. I don't think you can be trying to save the world _without _that potential." He shrugged.

"Right," said Tony, suspecting—but unsure—that Bruce was making a joke. "But what if it ends up being more than science?"

"You mean, what if I have to 'Hulk Out' to save the world from miniature alien invaders?"

Tony wondered when Bruce had become so flippant. "Yeah."

Bruce paused. "I'd probably do that, too." Deadly serious.

Tony sighed. That's what he'd been afraid of. "Why, Bruce?"

"It's the right thing to do, Tony. No one else wants to risk their lives to save the world, but they all will. They might resent the hell out of it, but they'll step up the plate."

"It's different with them, though," Tony said. "They all want to do it."

Bruce's voice was edged with something dangerous when he replied, "And what makes you think I don't?"

"Um, you said so? Look, I'm not trying to...impugn your honor or anything. I'm just saying that you've felt...been...coerced before. I just want to make sure you're not going to be all heroic and life-sacrificing because someone _told _you to."

Annoyed, Bruce said, "That...is not your prerogative, Tony."

Equally annoyed, Tony replied, "Fuck that, it _is_."

"...What?"

"Banner, someone's got to stand up for you, 'cause you're sure as shit not going to do it yourself. It's kind of amazing, but you seem to be completely lacking a spine."

"What?" It was growled, this time, low in his chest. His eyes shone suddenly green in the harsh fluorescent light of the cafeteria.

Tony noticed, but plowed ahead recklessly. "Tell me you wouldn't throw yourself off a cliff if Fury asked you to, Bruce!"

Instead of the "that's ridiculous," or "don't be stupid, Tony," or "Fuck you, Stark" he'd been hoping for, Bruce instead replied, "If it was for a good reason, Tony, then yeah, I probably would."

Tony exploded, "You just don't fucking GET it, do you?"

"No, Tony, I don't think _you _do," Bruce said, his voice steely. "I know you've decided that I'm some pathetic, sad sack of shit who can't 'handle' anything, but I'm _fine_. And I'm thankful that SHIELD's giving me a chance, when they could have just as easily had me _put down_. If Nick Fucking Fury wants me to jump off a _fucking _cliff, then I'll ask 'which fucking one.' It's not like the fall would kill me."

"Damn it, Bruce!" Tony said, completely exasperated. "Yeah, SHIELD's 'giving you a chance,' but that's not the only reason you're doing this. You're not grateful. You're afraid they're going to dissect you in a fucking lab if you say no! Right? That's what you _said_, so don't pretend like you're doing this because you owe Nick Fury a fucking _favor_!"

The pair had been gradually leaning closer to each other across the table, so that by the end of Tony's tirade, they were face-to-face. Tony could see the sweat forming at Bruce's temple, the way his jaw muscles clenched as he ground his teeth together.

This, Tony reflected, was probably not good.

Bruce suddenly leaned back, away from Tony. He took several harsh breaths. The fine trembling that had begun in his shoulders did not cease, though, but instead spread down his arms to his hands. He slowly shook his head, and gasped, "_Christ, _Tony!"

With only that for warning, he made a fist and drove it into his wounded leg.

He hissed in pain, but the tension that had been growing in his shoulders eased and his coloring returned to normal.

Feeling suddenly nauseated, Tony said, "Yeah, Banner, where would I have ever gotten the idea that you're not 'handling' anything." He stood and walked towards the exit. When he was about halfway there, he abruptly turned back and said, "Here's a question for you, Bruce. I'm the one pissing you off, provoking you. Why don't you hurt _me_?"

Shocked, Bruce watched him leave. That idea had never occurred to him.

* * *

Tony knew this was a bad idea. Hell, it had been a bad idea last time he'd done it. That wasn't going to stop him, though. He was on a _mission_, and he had to make sure it was done right.

Fury was stalking down the hallway between the command center and the lab when Tony caught up with him.

"Hey!" Tony called, never really one for subtlety. Fury turned. "I need to talk to you."

"Can't it wait, Stark? We're kind of in the middle of a catastrophe right now."

"Yeah, no," Tony said. "It's kind of related to the catastrophe."

Fury did not look especially inclined towards patient listening right now. Still, he gestured for Tony to speak, and resumed walking.

Following close behind, Tony decided that it was probably best to just plow ahead with this ill-advised idea. "Look. You can't let Banner kill himself trying to save the world. Or something. It's not right."

The look Fury gave Tony made him feel about three feet tall. It was an impressive feat, given the size of the billionaire's ego.

"I don't really see how that's any of your business. Dr. Banner," Fury said, glaring at Tony with his remaining eye, "Will do whatever Dr. Banner feels is necessary. I'm not forcing him."

"Okay, maybe you're not, but he _thinks _you are." Tony said. "He's not making his own choices, he's only...I don't know. Fuck, Fury, you're taking advantage of him. He's willing to throw himself off a mountain for you, if that'll stop you from cutting him open on a lab table."

Fury gave him a calculating look. "And what, exactly, is the problem with that?"

"I think there's some pretty fucking serious problems with that, actually," said Clint, walking up behind Fury. Behind him were the rest of the Avengers and Loki. All of them, including the God of Mischief, looked vaguely sickened by Fury's words.

"Dr. Banner thinks SHIELD's going to...what, kill him?...if he doesn't do what they want?" Natasha asked, slowly.

Tony nodded. "Pretty much."

Natasha said, "And he just assumed that we'd all go along with that?"

Tony nodded again.

"I guess that's not surprising. It kind of fits."

"Fits with _what_?" Fury asked.

No one replied.

After a few moments, when it seemed like Fury's patience was up, Tony said, hesitantly, "Bruce...doesn't care. About himself. So he'll do anything, for anyone. He'll die for any cause you point him at. For any reason. For any person. And...I can't let him do that."

Fury's face was inscrutable. Finally, he said, "Banner's got a pretty realistic notion of the situation. I'm protecting him. Me. The council wants him dead. The military wants him dead. Most of the world? Wants him dead. If he doesn't stick around, if he doesn't walk a very narrow line, if it looks like I can't control him...I won't be able to protect him."

Tony, now thoroughly disgusted, said, "So that's it? Those are his options? He can die for you, or die like an animal in a cage?"

"Stark, I don't make all the rules. Some of them, I have to follow. Banner's dangerous, whether it's his fault or not. And someone's got to make sure he's contained."

"That's _bullshit_," Tony said. "Do you know _anything _about Bruce Banner? Christ, he's not dangerous, he's..."

"Misunderstood?" Fury supplied. "Please, Stark. Tell that to the people killed and maimed and displaced last time Banner visited Harlem. I think they'll tell you a different story. He. Is. A. Menace. He needs to be on a leash. And if it starts to look like he's not..."

Tony repeated, "If it starts to look like he's not?"

Fury sighed. "Then even I won't be able to protect him. So I need him to stay on the team, and I need him to save the world, and if that means that I need the Hulk, he'd better damn well deliver that, too. He'll fight for 'any cause I point him at?' Good. And you ARE going to let him. Because as a free agent, he's too dangerous, and he _will _be put down."

"Well, director," Bruce said quietly, emerging from around the corner, "It's good to know exactly where we stand, I guess."

* * *

He'd decided to go after Tony, once he'd calmed down a touch. He _might_ have been intending to punch the billionaire in the face, now that the idea _had _occurred to him. Of course, mild-mannered Dr. Banner would _never_ seek out violence. He scoffed internally at that. _I once tried to blow up my school for fuck's sake, there's nothing mild mannered here _(1). Once you had had an accident that causes you to turn into a green rage monster in moments of intense emotion, he reflected, people tended to forget that you had anger management issues beforehand.

As he hobbled through the corridors, though, his desire to slug Tony decreased. He was almost ready to offer the man an apology by the time he got to the hallway that led to the lab.

Before he turned the corner, he heard voices. Fury, and Tony. And...Barton. Romanoff. Straining his ears a little, he could just barely make out the conversation.

And didn't especially like what he was hearing.

Still, there was something vindicating in knowing that he'd been right. And the words of the other Avengers were...surprisingly heartwarming.

But, the fact remained, that SHIELD was essentially holding him hostage. He had thought they might be. Now he knew. And somehow, knowing for sure was worse.

He began to feel caged in.

He stepped around the corner. The looks on everyone's faces when he made himself known would have been funny, if the shock from his appearance hadn't morphed quickly into apprehension.

They thought he was going to transform.

Bruce, though, was surprisingly calm. The claustrophobia was there, of course, a tight knot of anxiety eating away at his midsection. There was no anger, though. He knew that this was something he should be angry about. He _should _be full of rage at being used, at how casually Fury spoke of his potential imprisonment or death. But he wasn't.

Because it made sense. He _was _dangerous. Fury was right to keep him leashed. And if the director was ready to do anything, including having him killed, to keep the monster at bay, he was right to do that, too.

That Fury would see that done, was almost…comforting.

* * *

(1) This is part of Bruce's official backstory. You can read more about it at the Marvel Universe Wiki. I'd add a link, but ffn hates them.

Please review. Otherwise, I float, adrift, in a sea of abject uncertainty and self-doubt.


	11. Consent

Warnings: language, very brief mention of self-injury, Loki being a jerk, Fury being a jerk, random SHIELD agent being a jerk. Jerks all around!

Thanks to my beta, irite, for making sure I'm not boring. I just can't tell on my own…

I do not own the Avengers.

* * *

After his dramatic entrance, Bruce found that he actually had very little to say. Really, what _was _there to say after that? So, carefully ignoring the eyes (and weapons, he noted ruefully with a quick glance around) trained on him, he smiled in what was meant to be a reassuring way and said, "I have to get back to work."

His exit was far less dramatic.

He felt their stares burning into his back as he hobbled down the hall, and it was with a great sense of relief that he ensconced himself back in his lab.

Once there, he settled into one of the chairs and rested his chin upon his steepled fingers. On the table in front of him, in its lead-and-something-else prison, sat the object that could very easily bring about the destruction of his entire planet. Perhaps of all reality.

It didn't look like much, really.

But then, Bruce reflected, neither did he. Looks could be deceiving.

His ruminating was interrupted by the door opening behind him. Expecting another over-emotional confrontation with Tony, Bruce heaved a sigh and swiveled around, saying, "Look, I know what you're going to say—"

"Oh, I doubt that," interrupted Loki, sauntering over to his previously-claimed chair on the other side of the room.

Bruce was relieved. He wondered briefly what had gone wrong in his life that he would be relieved to be in the same room as a megalomaniacal demigod.

While he was thinking, Loki made himself comfortable. When he'd settled in, he said, "You know, Banner, I had not expected to encounter another prisoner during my sojourn to this wretched realm."

Oh, Christ, he couldn't take this, not from Loki, and not now. "I don't need your pity," Bruce said quietly, staring fixedly at the tabletop in front of him.

"Pity? Certainly not."

Well, that was a relief.

Loki continued, "I am, I confess, bewildered. And it is not often that I find myself in this condition."

Bruce rolled his eyes. Did the trickster have to talk like such a fucking fruitcake?

_Maybe if I ignore him, _he thought to himself, _he will go away._

Five minutes passed in silence, but a cursory glance up revealed that Loki was still there, perched on his chair and peering at Bruce.

"What's your problem?" Bruce finally asked, unable to take that god-awful staring any longer.

Loki considered him for a moment, before saying, "I am bound, Banner, in such a way that I cannot break free. I have tried, to the ends of my strength, but it is futile. But you have no such bindings. You could break free of them, of this SHIELD, so easily. They could not stop you if you truly desired your freedom."

"I don't," Bruce said flatly, picking up his screwdriver to continue his earlier efforts at modifying a gamma-ray spectrometer.

"You do not wish to be free? Well, slavery _is _the natural state of your species. And I suppose with that creature inside of you, you are more bestial than most."

"It is only fitting," Loki added, "That you should be the slave of these slaves. It is where you fit into the great scheme of things. Indeed, it is what you _deserve_."

Ouch.

Bruce knew he was being manipulated. That Loki was playing on his emotions like they were a fucking marimba.

He knew that, logically, but it didn't help. The demigod—oh, he was _so _perceptive—had found a weakness and had ripped into it viciously.

And now Bruce was going to give him exactly what he wanted. "SHIELD can't give me freedom. No one can," the physicist said reluctantly, despite the voice in his head screaming at him to _shut the fuck up already_.

"What do you mean, Banner? I heard your director quite clearly. He is using you," Loki said, pleased that the man had given in so easily. Of course, he did not yet know to what possible use he could put this newfound information. That did not matter, though. It would come. Knowledge was power, and power was the ultimate goal, really.

Bruce sighed. "SHIELD...controls me. I'm stuck doing what they want, because they'll kill me and cut me open if I don't. At least, they'll try. I guess that makes me their prisoner. I mean, yeah, I could let the Other Guy out, and leave. They'd hunt me down. Even if they didn't, though..." He paused.

"Continue."

Surprisingly, Bruce complied. "I can't be free. Not with the Other Guy. Not when I'm so dangerous. How many innocent people would I kill, if I tried to leave?"

Loki found that largely irrelevant. "I think," he said, "That you are keeping _him _prisoner, Banner. He has the power to overcome a god, yet he lives in a prison constructed of your weakness and your fear! This SHIELD does not hold you captive. They could not, without your consent. So why do you consent?"

Bruce looked at Loki with narrowed eyes, considering the question. Then, he shrugged, shaking his head.

He didn't offer an answer.

* * *

When Tony returned to the lab an hour later, it was dead silent.

Well, not quite. The room was filled with the sound of furious clicking as Bruce tapped away at one of the computers.

Loki sat, still and quiet, observing the physicist from across the room.

Bruce had looked up when the door opened. "Hey, Tony," he greeted the billionaire. There was something off in his voice, something strained, but it was clear he was striving very hard for normalcy.

Tony nodded a greeting, deciding to indulge Bruce in his current dance of denial and avoidance. "Fury wants to know how this thing is coming along," he said, gesturing at the box on the table.

"It's not!" Bruce said, almost cheerfully. "I have no idea what I'm doing!"

Tony could appreciate the honesty.

Bruce continued, "I don't get it. This should not be possible. There is nothing in the known universe that could put out this kind of energy. Radioactive decay, gamma ray bursts, nothing."

"Well," Tony said, "What about the unknown universe?"

"What?"

"You said there's nothing in the known universe that could put out that kind of energy. What about the unknown universe?"

"How on earth would I know, Tony, it's _unknown_."

Tony stared pointedly at the figure on the chair in the corner.

Bruce was tempted to say something really mature, like "I'm not talking to him anymore," but refrained. Instead he asked, stiffly, "Loki, what's this thing's energy source?"

He had expected Loki to say 'I don't know,' or some other, ruder equivalent.

Instead, Loki smirked and said, "Oh, are we on speaking terms again?"

Bruce glared. Tony wondered what had happened between them in the time he'd been absent.

In the silence, Loki's smirk widened. "It's magic, Banner," he said, clearly delighted with himself.

Bruce felt he couldn't respond to that without resorting to profanity, so instead said nothing.

"Could you be a little more...specific?" Tony asked, when it became apparent Bruce was just going to stew.

"I am not certain it would prove useful."

"Humor me. Us."

Loki shrugged, a graceful embodiment of his indifference. "As you wish. Those who use magic draw the power to do so from living things. Most often, themselves. Thus, powerful magic is immensely draining to the caster. There are some exceptions, of course. If one possesses an item that has an immense amount of stored energy, for example, the Tesseract..."

The greedy look on his face was unmistakable.

"The sphere," he continued after a moment, "Is such an object. It contains an immense deal of stored energy."

"But what IS the energy? It's far too strong to be anything we've ever seen," Bruce said. His mind, the product of a world structured by science, was struggling to wrap itself around the idea of magic.

"The power for magic comes from living things," Loki repeated. "It is, I suppose you could say, life itself."

Tony and Bruce considered that for a moment. "Well, that makes sense," Tony said eventually, even though it really didn't. Still, he firmly believed that magic was just shit that scientists hadn't figured out to explain yet. He could roll with this. "So...this thing has a lot of stored energy...then..._how_, exactly?"

"There are a number of ways it could have been done," Loki said. "But the simplest would have been to harvest life force and bind it. It certainly would have been the fastest. And probably the only method within the limited capabilities of those fools."

The phrase 'harvest life force' did not sound good, Tony reflected. It seemed rather euphemistic.

"When you say 'harvest,' uh, what's that entail, exactly?" Bruce asked, picking up on Tony's thoughts.

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Let us just say that it does not behoove one to fall in battle against the Svartálfar."

"Woah. Woah, woah, woah," Tony said. "The dwarves have been fuelling this thing with, what, the lives of their fallen enemies? For how long?"

"Long enough that it grew powerful enough to break the most fundamental rules of the realms, Stark. So long that it grew so powerful enough that practically no one could ever wield it safely."

"And...just out of curiosity...if we happen to die while we're battling these guys...?" Tony wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Well, I suppose that depends. If you die after the dwarf king has unleashed chaos on all the realms, your spirit will drift through the ages, anchorless and alone. If you die during the battle, your life will likely power the sphere and you will be lost forever," Loki said.

There was a rather lengthy pause.

"Why the fuck didn't you say something about this sooner?" Tony exploded. "You were all, 'Oh, I don't know anything else, Thor, stop asking me questions!' And you were sitting on this!"

"I do not know for certain if that is what they have been doing. It is all conjecture...albeit very educated conjecture. Also," Loki added as an afterthought, "It didn't strike me as particularly important," He dusted an imaginary speck of dust from his cloak.

"It...didn't...strike you as...important?" Tony repeated slowly.

Loki shrugged again. "Not especially, no. It matters not where the power comes from. Power is power."

Tony made a sudden, violent move towards the trickster, but Bruce grabbed the back of his shirt. "Hold on. You can't kill him. I'm pretty sure we're going to need him. Unfortunately."

"Can I kill him _later_?" Tony growled.

"Take it up with Thor," Bruce replied calmly.

Loki, in his corner, smiled at the pair innocently.

* * *

Nick Fury was having a bad day.

Any day that started with that son of a bitch, Loki, re-appearing on his fucking planet was bound to be a bad one.

Add in a potential alien invasion, and it got worse.

But now, he had Stark on his case, convinced he was mistreating Banner or some shit, and what the fuck was up with Banner, anyway? Limping through SHIELD on those crutches. He'd seemed awfully friendly with Thor's fucking brother, too. What had they been talking about earlier?

_"That must have taken a lot of willpower," Loki had said, making some gesture that Fury couldn't really see. "How did you do it?"_

_Banner said, "It wasn't that hard, since the alternative was killing my friends."_

_"Surely you don't value their lives so much more than your own?"_

It was fucking weird.

Fury, back in his office, decided that he could start by trying to figure out what the fuck had happened to Banner's leg. He summoned a passing agent. "Jackson. Get in here. I need you to get hospital admission records for white males matching this description," he jotted something down, "Who were treated for injuries to the right leg in the last 48 hours or so within a 50 mile radius of Stark Tower."

"Yes, sir," Jackson replied.

That done, Fury settled back into his chair. He had informed the Council of the situation, of course, and they were trying to find a way to ensure that, when the messenger came, his point of contact with the humans was through SHIELD. It was, according to Thor, exceedingly strange that Midgard did not have a single, supreme ruler.

Fury considered that. He supposed it would have been pretty convenient if Loki had succeeded in his bid for world domination. Then this would be _his _fucking problem.

Of course, if Loki were in charge, he'd be using the weapon to decimate other worlds, and that would have had its own set of issues. Perhaps things had turned out for the best.

After a few moments, Fury rose. He convened with Thor and Rogers to talk logistics. He needed to know how an alien invasion would go down. Should he expect a portal opening over the Empire State Building? How would the dwarves know where to go? Could they maybe just make sure that the invaders landed somewhere in Siberia and leave them to freeze to death?

Thor attempted to explain, but his understanding of these things was limited. He assured Fury that the dwarves would certainly wind up in the correct place, that is, at the location of the sphere. He was not sure where Siberia was, but if the director wanted the dwarves to arrive there instead, perhaps he could move the sphere.

Fury sighed and rolled his eyes. Thor probably wouldn't understand the issues associated with moving extremely dangerous weapons into other countries. Now was not the time to stir up shit with Russia, or with any of the countries who would be pissed off if Russia suddenly possessed a weapon of extremely mass destruction.

When he ended the meeting and returned to his office, Fury saw that a stack of files had appeared on his desk. It looked like Agent Jackson had gotten the hospital admissions records. That was good. Fury looked at his watch, and decided he could dedicate exactly forty-one minutes to looking through them.

It didn't take him forty-one minutes, though, because a cursory glance through the records showed that none of them were Banner's.

Well, wasn't this an interesting mystery?

As they were in the middle of a catastrophe, Fury was reluctant to expend resources on something that wasn't critical to the problem. Still, he was curious. Very curious.

He called Jackson back to his office. "I need you to surveil Dr. Banner," he said. "Covertly."

Jackson looked confused. "Sir?"

"Just do it, agent. I want to know what he's up to. Let me know if you notice anything...odd."

The agent nodded reluctantly. "Yes, sir." With very little enthusiasm, he slumped from the room.

Fury was momentarily puzzled. Then it occurred to him that most people would probably be reluctant if they were assigned to trail a man who occasionally turned into an immensely powerful and often uncontrolled rage monster.

He shrugged mentally. It wasn't his problem. Now, the alien invasion. _That _was his problem.

* * *

"We should probably tell Fury," Bruce said.

"Tell him what?" Natasha said, strolling into the lab, Clint a half-step behind.

"Shouldn't you two be doing something...productive?" Tony asked, as the pair made themselves comfortable.

"Like what?" Clint asked. "We're not exactly involved in the planning process. We get our orders, we follow them. We don't have orders yet."

"He's right," Natasha said. "I've cleaned all my guns, sharpened all my knives, and now I'm out of shit to do. I figured we could stop by."

She shot a quick look at Bruce.

He didn't notice it, but Loki did.

"Did you come to check on dear Dr. Banner, Romanoff?" he asked, his voice mocking.

"As a matter of fact, yes," she replied. She knew he was looking for something to exploit, a weakness. Her honesty shut him down.

_Damn that wench_, Loki thought, _always ruining my fun_.

At his name, Bruce looked up from the computer monitor he'd been staring at.

"Are you okay?" Natasha asked him, bluntly.

"'Cause that shit Fury said earlier was fucking stupid," Clint added.

"I'm fine," Bruce assured them, quickly tapping a few commands into the computer. "It's not like it was exactly surprising. Old news. It's fine. Really."

Clint and Natasha shared a long look. Then, Clint said, "We'd protect you, you know."

_Oh, good luck with that, _Tony mused. _Been there, done that, got the fucking t-shirt_. Still, he waited for Bruce's reply.

Bruce shook his head. "That's not...don't. There's no need to paint a target on your back. Anyway, it's irrelevant. It's not going to come down to anything like that."

"Yes," Loki sneered from his corner, "The good doctor has acquiesced to his bondage. No rescue will be necessary."

Bruce shot him a warning glare, but Loki ignored it. This was just too fun. "SHIELD is just a convenient excuse. That way Banner doesn't have to acknowledge that he is the warden who has shackled his own hands and feet and locked the cage door."

Bruce thought that was a misrepresentation of what he'd said earlier. "That's not what I said—" he began, angrily.

"Yeah?" Tony interrupted. "What did you say, then?"

"He said," Loki quoted, "That he doesn't desire his freedom, because he's too dangerous to be free. And it doesn't matter if SHIELD is holding him prisoner or not, because he will always be a prisoner to the beast within."

_That sounds a lot worse from this end of things_, Bruce thought.

Tony evidently agreed. "That's bullshit, Bruce."

"We're not doing this right now," Bruce said, struggling against the frustration rising within. "Actually, we're not doing this, ever." He turned back to his computer.

"Fuck that."

Bruce whirled around, heart rate rising. "Jesus, Tony, when are you going to stop provoking me? Are you suicidal?"

"No, dumbass. I'd just like to see you, for one second, think about yourself. About how shitty this is."

"You think I don't _know_?" _Get a grip, Banner, calm down_.

"No. I don't think you do!" Tony said, his voice getting progressively louder.

"I'm dangerous, Tony. A 'menace.' But I'm trying to protect people. I am trying to protect _you._" _Why can't he see that?_

"Yeah, and I'm grateful, I really am," Tony practically yelled. "But I watched you stab yourself and nearly bleed out on my kitchen floor because you'd rather hurt yourself than hurt me. And that feels shitty."

_Oh. _

"Tony," Clint said, warning. He was looking at the security camera mounted in the corner.

There were several beats of silence. Then:

"Oh, fuck me," the billionaire breathed.

* * *

Stark had said that last bit loudly enough to be clearly heard over surveillance.

Generally, this might not have been a problem. SHIELD (though most people didn't know this) didn't usually watch surveillance, except of areas that were vulnerable to penetration. For everywhere else, they kept the tapes for reference in case they needed to look at something later.

But Jackson had been watching the lab since before Barton and Romanoff entered. When Stark delivered his last line, Jackson choked on his coffee.

Quickly, he stood. This was something that Fury would want to know.

* * *

Thanks to everyone who's reading and leaving feedback.

Please review. They are anchors in this unending abyss I call life.


	12. In the Presence of Greatness

Warnings: language, brief mention of self-injury, manipulative jerks.

Thanks to my beta, irite, for vastly improving the end of this chapter!

I do not own the Avengers.

* * *

Bruce was still trying to figure out what, exactly, had just happened when Clint stood up. He grabbed Bruce's crutches and thrust them at the physicist, saying, "You should go." The urgency in his voice was unmistakable, his words clipped and curt.

"Go? Go where?" Bruce took the offered crutches, but made no move to stand.

"Anywhere. Back to the Tower. Bolivia. The nearest Starbucks. But you need to do it now." Clint started rolling Bruce's chair towards the door.

"Woah, wait," Bruce said, bracing his legs against the floor, trying to ignore the flash of pain it sent shooting down to his foot and up through his hip. "Wait, I said. Ow! What the hell?"

Clint stopped trying to push Bruce out of the room.

"Look, Bruce," Natasha explained, "Fury's probably got someone tailing you after what he heard today. In fact, I'm positive he does. And now he's going to have to act."

Judging from the sickened, stricken look on Tony's face, this was a problem. Bruce remembered what he'd said earlier (had it really only been this morning?): 'No one likes a rage monster with emotional problems.'

To be fair, no one liked rage monsters in general. His mind flashed back to all of his previous interactions with the government, which mostly boiled down to them trying to kill him. SHIELD was different, though. They were "strategic." That probably meant they were a lot more creative.

_Yeah_, Bruce thought,_ I'm probably not going to like any response Fury's going to come up with for this situation _at all.

When he tuned back into the conversation, Clint was saying, "But with all this shit going on, he can't spare much manpower. So, if you can get out of here, you might have some time. Not much, but it could be enough."

Bruce started forming plans, though it was hard to think around the anxiety rising in his chest. Where would he go? Brazil? India? No, they'd found him there once, it wouldn't be hard to find him again. Maybe somewhere in Africa? Sudan, maybe. He'd need documents, of course, and he'd need to pack...

And the world was about to be invaded by hostile aliens. Who were going to bring about the end of reality, unless they could figure out a way to stop them.

Fuck. He couldn't leave.

"No." One word, going against what little instinct for self-preservation he had left.

Tony, who had been buried in his tablet, quickly working out the logistics of hiding Bruce, looked up, surprised. "Wait, what?"

"I'm not leaving." Three more words, friction against his common sense. "Someone's got to save the world, right?" _And what a sad place we've come to if it's going to be me_, Bruce thought wryly.

"You can't be serious, Banner," Natasha said. "I've seen the—" she cut herself off with a quick, almost guilty look at Bruce.

Tony narrowed his eyes. "What have you seen?"

She sighed, but finished what she had been going to say. "I've seen the plans. Contingency plans. Containment plans. What we're supposed to do if the Hulk 'goes rogue.' It's not pretty, Dr. Banner. You should take your chances and go. Please."

Part of Bruce was intensely curious to know more about SHIELD's contingency and containment plans. Especially if they had Natasha Romanoff saying 'please.' Another part of him wanted to expound on the differences between him and 'the Hulk,' but he figured that was futile. Bruce doubted SHIELD had ever seen much of a difference, anyway. A monster was always a monster, even when it wore a human face.

He thought, with a touch of irony, that this probably wasn't quite what Tony had in mind all those times he'd encouraged everyone to accept him and the Other Guy as one and the same.

Pushing those thoughts aside, though, Bruce said, "Look, I'm the only person who's had any experience at all with this thing. If nothing else, I know the radiation won't kill me. It won't mutate me, and it won't make me burst into flames. At least...if I do, I'll heal. So I need to do whatever I can to disarm this thing, because I'm probably the only person who can."

"Very noble, Dr. Banner," Loki said, his tone making it clear that he actually thought the physicist was a complete moron. "But as far as I have been able to observe, your efforts at both understanding and neutralizing this object have been rather fruitless. Do you honestly believe that you will achieve different results with more time?"

"I don't know," Bruce answered honestly. "But I have to try."

"Of course you fucking do," Tony snarled, disgusted. "Couldn't just do the selfish thing for once, oh no, not Dr. Banner. So what's your great plan instead? 'Cause if you stick around, Fury's not going to fuck around if he thinks you've lost it."

Judging from the way that Clint and Natasha both winced (weren't they supposed to be able to hide that kind of reaction? Fucking assassins weren't even _trying_), Tony figured that had been the wrong thing to say. Damn his omnipresent tactlessness.

Bruce clenched his jaw, then took a few deep, slow breaths. "Do _you _think I've 'lost it,' Tony?" he asked, when he felt he could speak without growling.

"That's not what I said."

"Really." Funnily, that didn't sound like a question.

"Christ, is it so hard for you to get this? _Really? _Okay, then, let me spell it out for you. I don't want to see you strapped to some lab table, drugged to within an inch of your life or something. You don't deserve that. No matter what you think."

"That's not going to happen," Bruce said. But Natasha looked at him uneasily. "It's not. Is it?"

She hesitated. "There's a compound SHIELD's been developing. A tranquilizer. But there's no lab table involved, as far as I know."

Well, that was reassuring.

"I'm not leaving," Bruce said after a moment. "We might just be overreacting here. Maybe no one was listening. Maybe Fury won't do anything."

Natasha, Clint, and Tony all shot him identical disbelieving looks. Even Loki looked dumbfounded at what he considered to be idiotic optimism.

"Just curious, did you miss the part where Fury said he'd put you down if it looked like he couldn't control you?" Tony asked.

Bruce really wished he had. "No. That came through loud and clear. But what do you want me to do? Abandon the whole universe to some ego-tripping alien so I can save my own skin?"

"Uh, yeah," Tony said. "I have to agree with Loki...and ugh, that was fucking awful to say, but you don't know if you're even going to be useful here."

"I might be. That's enough for me. Why isn't it enough for you?"

Annoyed, Tony said, "You know what? Fine. But you're not doing this alone. Saving the world or whatever. And," he added, "I'm not letting Fury anywhere near you with a hypodermic needle. Deal with it."

Clint and Natasha nodded their agreement.

Loki rolled his eyes with a very put-upon sigh.

* * *

Jackson strode purposefully through the winding corridors of SHIELD's headquarters. He'd found out what Fury wanted to know. The director hadn't said as much, but he hadn't exactly been subtle in his prying, either. Banner's injury was conspicuous for its lack of explanation. Why else would Fury have been looking at hospital records?

But now the answer to the mystery was revealed. Hopefully, when the director got the intel, he'd reassign Jackson to the alien invasion.

Because as awful as that was going to be, anything was better than being within 500 feet of Bruce Banner.

It wasn't anything personal, Jackson told himself. The guy seemed nice enough. Except for that whole rage monster thing. And, well, now the whole stabbed-himself thing. It was really the combination that was inspiring Jackson to stay at least 500 feet away. Although, if it came down to it, he really doubted a 500 foot head start would really matter much. He'd seen what had happened to Harlem.

Fury was on the phone when Jackson got to his office, but the director motioned him inside and gestured for him to sit. Jackson thought maybe the director would be surprised that he had returned already. It had been less than an hour since he had left. But Fury was as unflappable as ever, and his face betrayed nothing. Except vague annoyance at whoever was on the other end of the phone conversation. Okay, maybe not _vague _annoyance. More like...overt, teeth-grinding annoyance.

Jackson waited patiently for the director's conversation to end, hoping that whoever he was talking to wouldn't piss him off too badly.

Fury hung up the phone ten minutes later and gave Jackson an appraising look. He figured that the agent had decided that he desperately needed to be re-assigned. After forty-five minutes. Well, couldn't really blame him for that. Damn coward.

Okay, maybe he _could _blame him.

"I know what happened to Dr. Banner's leg, sir," Jackson said in response to Fury's questioning look.

Hmm. That was interesting. "Continue, agent."

"The wound on his leg was a self-inflicted knife wound, sir. He stabbed himself."

And that was even more interesting.

"Did Banner mention why he felt compelled to stab himself in the fucking leg?"

"No sir." Jackson was so used to the director's excessive profanity that it didn't even register any more. "Actually, it was Mr. Stark who let it slip."

Ah, Stark's big mouth. The man was supposedly a genius, but somehow that didn't translate into an ability to control his verbal diarrhea.

"I don't suppose Stark had any goddamned insight into the situation?"

"Yes, sir. He did, actually."

Fury raised an eyebrow minutely. "Do you need an invitation, or are you going to tell me on your own?"

Jackson stammered, "Uh, s-sorry, sir. Yes, sir. He said something like 'I saw you stab yourself and nearly bleed to death because you'd rather hurt yourself than hurt me.'"

That was pretty fucked up, Fury mused. What could that mean? He needed more information. But he could get it himself.

"Thank you, Jackson." Fury briefly considered sending the agent back to tailing Banner, mostly for his own amusement. But good behavior should be rewarded. "Why don't you head upstairs and work with the diplomatic response team?"

Jackson nodded and headed towards the elevators. Fury could have sworn he heard the agent's sigh of relief as he left.

Now alone, Fury considered his options.

Contrary to popular belief, Fury was not a total bastard. Just...mostly a bastard. Ninety-six percent bastard, actually. He'd been aware of Banner's complete lack of self-worth, self-esteem, self-anything for awhile. He had a whole fucking file on the man, pulled together by a team of the best psychologists in the country. But it didn't take a whole fucking file, or those elite fucking PhDs, to tell him that Banner hated himself. That was pretty evident. It had been evident before the Chitauri invasion, even before Banner had admitted to putting a bullet in his mouth.

Fuck, the physicist practically exhaled self-loathing with every breath.

And Fury knew he was taking advantage of that. He knew that Banner was never going to stand up for himself. He was never going to assert his right to be anything other than SHIELD's goddamned tool. A tool that Fury had few qualms about using however it suited him.

But the director wasn't a complete bastard, no, just mostly a bastard, and he didn't want to do what he knew the Council would have him do in a heartbeat. If they got wind of this, they'd want Banner sedated and locked up in their supposedly unbreakable prison.

And that wasn't necessary.

Because even though Banner was showing signs of serious mental instability (as if he hadn't been before...rage monster and all), Fury could see, from the psych profile, from his own observations, from his intuition...that Banner's self-loathing was a tool, too. And it, too, could be used. Used to bind the physicist, to control him, to lock the monster inside behind a wall built of shame and guilt. Hell, Banner had mostly seen to that on his own. It was pretty damn convenient.

Who needed a sedative, an unbreakable prison, when you could use that, instead?

Besides...drugged and incarcerated, Banner wasn't going to be much fucking use. And Fury needed him. Someone had to figure out what the fuck to do with that alien nightmare sphere.

He stood. It was time to have a talk with his physics consultant.

* * *

For fifteen minutes, they sat and anxiously watched the door.

After another five, Tony stood, declaring, "This is ridiculous."

"I agree," said Fury, entering the lab.

_Good God_, Tony thought, _do all the people around here practice their dramatic timing_?

"I thought I sent you down here to work, not to sit around doing jack shit," Fury remarked. "You can do that anywhere, any time. You'd think you'd all be a little more inspired, with the approaching invasion and all. Guess that was a little too fucking optimistic of me." He glared at all of them, his gaze eventually settling on Bruce. "Banner. I need a word."

"Yeah, about that," said Tony quickly. "No. Anything you're going to say to Dr. Banner, you can say here. And maybe you could get Captain Rogers and Thor down here, too."

Banner, Fury noted, was looking at the table top, with an expression of grim acceptance on his face. Despite that, he hadn't disagreed with what Stark had said. Barton and Romanoff seemed to be standing behind the billionaire on this, too. Fury knew he wasn't going to win this battle.

He scowled. "Fine. Meet me upstairs. Conference room four. Five minutes." He turned and stalked from the room.

"That was too easy," Tony said after the door closed.

"Very astute, Stark," Loki noted with a sneer. "I would say that your Fury is not a man to be trifled with. And yet you trifle. I do not know if that makes you brave or exceptionally stupid." He paused, then added, "Let us hope that dear Dr. Banner does not come to any undue harm from your bravado."

But Loki thought it would be _so _much more fun if he did.

Four and a half minutes later, Bruce found himself in conference room four, wedged in between Tony and Natasha. Clint had taken a seat on the other side of the table, where he could keep a careful eye on Loki, who had, as was his custom, settled into a corner.

Fury strode in a moment later, with Steve and Thor behind him. The demigod and the supersoldier looked a little puzzled as to why they were there. But they seated themselves around the conference table, Steve next to Clint, and Thor on the marksman's other side. Fury pointedly sat at the head of the table, opposite Tony. The two men faced off.

When everyone was settled, and it became apparent that his staring contest with Stark wasn't going to come to a satisfying end, Fury said, "All right, Stark. You called this little get together, why don't you get us started?"

Tony raised an eyebrow. "I don't think so, director. You're the one who had something to discuss; I just wanted to make sure everyone was kept in the loop. Transparency in government and all. So what's on your mind?"

Transparency, ha. Might as well get down to it. That man was a stubborn asshole, and it seemed like it was rubbing off on everyone around him. "Well, Stark, I received some disturbing information today," Fury said. "In addition to the disturbing information these _fine gentlemen_," he gestured at Thor and Loki, "brought to my attention. I guess you could say it's been a disturbing fucking day all round."

The Avengers stared at him, waiting. Good, he thought, he had their attention.

"I had one of my agents tail Dr. Banner. I was interested in the conversation I overheard earlier. And I wanted to find out what I'd interrupted."

"Don't hold much for privacy around here, do you?" Tony said.

Fury shot him a look that said, quite clearly, 'No shit, Sherlock.'

"You could have just asked, director," Steve said. "I'm not sure resorting to spying was necessary. It doesn't really say a lot about trust and teamwork, does it?"

Bruce thought Steve's naïveté was kind of cute.

With a pointed look at Tony and Bruce, Fury said, "Trust goes both ways, Rogers. In this case I'd say it goes neither way."

Tony gave a big, bright smile. "Don't take it personally, director. I just don't like the government. They're always trying to take my stuff."

Bruce had a funny feeling Tony wasn't just talking about his inventions.

From the calculating look Fury was giving Tony, it seemed that he was thinking something similar. "Is that was this is about Stark? You're worried about what's going to happen to your 'stuff?'"

"Uh, not quite. You don't get it. I'm concerned about what you're going to do to my friend. Unlike you, I don't think he's fucking property."

With the barest hint of an exasperated sigh, Fury said, "Let's speak clearly, then. Put your mind to rest. My agent informed me that Dr. Banner's injury is a self-inflicted stab wound. I don't know the specifics of the situation, but that alone is enough to get him on a 72-hour psychiatric hold."

Tony felt Bruce tense next to him.

Fury continued, "But I've got a funny feeling that's not going to fly. So we'll end up with a 'situation' on our hands. The Council gets wind of it, and they'll want him locked up somewhere a little more secure than the fucking psych ward. I'm sure Agent Romanoff told you about the new tranquilizer SHIELD's developed. They won't hesitate to use it."

"So here's what I _should _do," Fury went on. "I _should_ have Dr. Banner committed. I _should _tell the fucking Council, and have him tranquilized and locked down when he resists. I _should _keep him here, indefinitely, for the protection of the rest of the population of the world."

As Fury spoke, Bruce could feel himself growing more anxious. He knew Fury had the power to do all of those things, fuck, had the _right _to do all of those things. Almost without thinking, he flexed the muscles in his right leg, relishing the wave of hot agony that pulsed through the limb at the movement. The tension in his chest eased, and he found it easier to breathe. _Oh, nice Banner_, he thought to himself. _This is a great first step towards convincing Fury you're not completely fucking crazy_.

As if he could hear Bruce's thoughts, Fury gave him a long, appraising look.

"But that's not what I'm going to do," the director said, after a pause. All of the Avengers looked shocked, to varying degrees. Perhaps Banner most of all, Fury noted. "The fact is, I need Dr. Banner working. And I don't think he's really going to be a problem."

Now they all looked completely floored. Except Loki. A faint smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth. After a moment, he laughed outright. "My, my, I find myself in the presence of greatness. How delightfully unexpected!"

"The fuck are you talking about?" Clint asked, reaching down and running his fingers briefly over the knife handle in his boot. He didn't like it when Loki laughed.

"Your director has figured it out. It is as I said earlier. Banner requires no cage, no 'tranquilizer.' The hatred he feels for himself binds him more effectively than Fury could ever hope to do. Dr. Banner is not going to be a problem? Certainly, he won't." Loki smirked. "Banner would rather carve into his own flesh than hurt those around him. Left to his own devices, I imagine he would sacrifice himself until there was nothing left, for a lack of belief in self-preservation. And this man," he gestured at Fury, "Is going to take full advantage of that. I confess I am quite impressed. I had not expected to find someone so _ruthless_ and _manipulative _here. Indeed, Fury, we may yet be friends." He paused, before finishing his tirade, "It is interesting to see who, exactly, Earth's Mightiest Heroes have chosen to follow."

Bruce, looking around, found that the expressions of pity and anger on the faces around him were hard to bear. He wanted very much to disappear, or wake up, or escape this situation in any other conceivable way. He wasn't mad at the demigod, though. Not now. Loki had provided a fairly accurate—if harsh—analysis of the situation.

And Bruce had never felt more pathetic in his life, that it would take a megalomaniacal demigod and a ruthless spy to understand what he was still trying to grasp about himself.

* * *

Thanks to everyone who's reading and leaving feedback.

Please review. Otherwise, I'll assume this was terrible, and then I'll be sad.


	13. The Worst Idea Ever

Warnings: language, Bruce being a bit of a "fucking martyr," a dash of alien issues. So it's pretty tame.

Thanks to my beta, irite, for removing 3000 uses of the word "said" from this chapter.

I do not own the Avengers.

* * *

Any further attempts at conversation were thwarted by the sudden shrieking sirens and flashing lights that, for the second time that day, filled the building.

Bruce jumped. Fury groaned. Loki laughed.

"Why, director," he said, still chuckling. "I have the oddest feeling that this has happened before. What is it that you humans call it? Ah, yes. 'Déjà vu.'"

"Security breach?" Tony asked warily.

Fury glared at him. "You fucking _think_?" He picked up the phone that was sitting on the table next to him and dialed.

"This is Fury," he declared brusquely. "What's the situation?" He listened. "Uh-huh. Yeah, evacuate the fucking building, why the fuck not. Productivity for today was shot to hell the _first _time this happened." Another pause. "Send him down here. Wait. No, we'll come there." He listened again, then rolled his eyes. "I don't fucking know. I'll deal with it."

He slammed the phone down.

"Come on," he said, standing and gesturing towards the door. "It's show time. Someone or something just materialized in my office. Right in my fucking office. Like we don't have the best security system in the damn world. And I've got a funny feeling it's your friend," he added, with a pointed look at Thor and Loki. "Unless any of the _rest _of you were expecting someone?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Tony couldn't resist answering, "Well, I _did _order pizza."

Fury shot him a scathing look. Tony grinned easily in response before following the rest of the Avengers as they filed out the door.

As they traversed the halls, Clint leaned towards Natasha and asked, "How the hell did he know to show up in Fury's office?"

Overhearing him, Steve broke in, "That's a good question. Director, you mentioned to me earlier that you'd set up a surveillance network so that if this guy showed up just about anywhere on the planet, you'd know about it. But he showed up here. It's like he knew you were waiting for him."

"Imagine that," Loki said nonchalantly.

Fury stopped abruptly. "The fuck do you know, Loki?" he asked, turning around.

"Director, you flatter me," the trickster replied. "I certainly had nothing to do with it. How could I? I've been imprisoned. Although...I _might _have mentioned your fine organization during my time on Svartálfaheimr, but I did not really suspect that the king was listening. Or would be able to put the information to any use. Color me surprised."

He didn't _look _surprised.

Fury ground his teeth. "And how the hell did you know _anything _about SHIELD to tell him?"

The look Loki gave him was pure condescension. "Do you really think I had never visited this realm before invading it? That would have been...insane."

A word that no one would _ever_apply to Loki, certainly.

"This is a covert government agency," Fury snarled. "How the hell did you find out about it? And what the fuck did you tell them?"

Loki grinned. "Perhaps, director, if we do not meet our doom, and reality is not warped beyond all repair, we can have a little chat about it later. Until then, may I advise against keeping a royal messenger waiting?"

Not dignifying that with a reply, Fury turned and resumed stalking towards his office.

"Christ, Thor," Tony muttered to the demigod, "Your brother's a dick."

"He _is _adopted," Thor replied, resigned.

Behind them, Loki laughed.

* * *

Personally, Bruce would have preferred if Fury would have had the messenger from Svartálfaheimr come to them. Walking anywhere was a pain in the ass. Well, a pain in the leg. The point was, it was unpleasant and, he thought, largely unnecessary. What the fuck was _he _going to do in a meeting like this?

Still, he hobbled down the halls as best he could. He was a good little worker bee (_prisoner, Banner, or slave, just accept it_) and did what he was told. Despite his efforts, he quickly fell to the rear of the group. At one point, he'd nearly been left behind entirely, but Fury had stopped to bitch at Loki. It gave him a chance to catch up.

Soon, the group was convened outside the door to Fury's office. The director turned at gave them all a withering look.

"I don't want to hear a fucking word from any of you. But especially _you_ and _you_," he said, pointing at Tony and Loki. "I'd like to get through this without starting a war. I know that's not going to happen, but fuck, I'd prefer that the hostilities didn't start _today_. So shut it."

Without waiting for a response, he opened the door and strode through, saying, "Good evening. My name is Nick Fury, and I'm the director of SHIELD. How can I help you?"

The messenger had been standing in the center of the room, facing the door. The first thing Bruce noticed about him was that he wasn't a dwarf.

Well, not exactly.

He was stocky and muscular, but not short. He was a bit smaller than an average human male, maybe about five and a half feet. Bruce was surprised, because he'd been expecting "Gimli" or something. Combined with the dwarf's black hair and deathly pale skin, he was pretty much not at all what Bruce had envisioned.

And he was speaking. But not in a language that Bruce had ever heard.

Thor was nodding along and looking at the director expectantly. Fury raised his eyebrow and, gesturing at the messenger, asked, "What the fuck is he saying?"

Confused, Thor said, "You do not understand?"

"No. I don't. You do?"

Loki let out a small cough that may have been a laugh.

"What _now_?" Fury growled at him.

But Loki just smiled and motioned at his mouth, miming his intent to remain silent.

"Jesus Christ, will you just fucking answer?"

"My apologies, director. I was simply adhering to your request for silence." He smiled, the picture of innocence and good behavior. "I was just thinking that my dear brother has apparently forgotten the translation spell that was cast on him an eon ago. It renders all languages comprehensible, and grants the ability to speak all languages. It is how we communicate with you. Did you never think it odd that we spoke English?"

Actually, Bruce had thought that. Intrigued, he asked, "That's fascinating. How does it work?"

"Maybe it's kinda like the Babel fish in the _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy,_" Tony mused.

Fury glared at them both. "I don't remember giving either of _you_permission to talk." Turning back to Loki, he said, "So, does this guy have something like that going on? Can he understand what we're saying?"

The dwarf said something very long-winded.

"No," Loki said, just as Thor answered, "Yes."

Fury sighed. "Loki, fuck off. Thor, you're translating."

Loki shrugged. It had been worth a shot. He couldn't pass up the opportunity for mischief, no matter how small.

"He says," Thor translated, "That he seeks a powerful object. One that he knows is here. He wants to know if you will hand it over willingly."

"Woah, that's an option?" Tony asked.

"Guess we're foregoing all pretense here, huh? None of that shit about 'a child's plaything'? And, uh, fuck no, it's not an option," Fury said, scowling between Tony and the messenger.

With narrowed eyes, the dwarf spoke again.

"He wishes to encourage you to reconsider your decision," Thor repeated dutifully.

"Or what?"

More words, harsh and fast.

"Or his people will bring war and destruction to your realm."

Damn. It wasn't unexpected, but it was still bad fucking news. "Any chance we can avoid that?"

The dwarf spoke, his tone hard and unyielding.

"Give him the sphere or face war. There is no other option," Thor said.

"Well, I guess it's going to be war, then, 'cause there is no way in hell I am handing this thing over. We know what it does, and we know what you're going to try to do, and we know you're going to fail," Fury stated flatly.

The dwarf spat one more phrase, and vanished abruptly.

"...So be it," Thor translated into the silence.

Before any conversation could break out, Fury sat down at his desk and picked up the phone. "Agent Hill? Yeah, call off the diplomatic response team, we're not going to need them." He paused. "No, sorry, didn't defuse the situation, we went with war." Another pause. "Not my fucking fault, Hill, blame Loki if you want to blame someone."

He hung up.

"So, I think that meeting went really well," Clint said. Steve glared at him. "What? We went into it knowing war was pretty much inevitable. No one died today, so I'd call that a victory."

Bruce couldn't decide if the SHIELD definition of "victory" was heroic or profoundly disturbing.

Ignoring his agent, Fury declared, "I need to talk to the Council. Again. In the meantime, Rogers, Thor...Barton, Romanoff—go work with the emergency preparedness team. Stark, Banner—take that asshole," he pointed at Loki, "back to the lab. I needed some fucking results yesterday."

Bruce sighed. Now he had to go all the way _back_? This was just getting cruel. But he lurched to his feet, paused a moment to catch his breath, and followed Tony out the door.

Loki lingered behind a moment. "I hope you know what you're doing, director. If I die in this realm because of your little war, I am going to be immensely displeased."

"Yeah?" Fury replied. "I hope that gives you an incentive to get the fuck to work and stop fucking with me."

Loki blinked at him, eyes wide and angelic. "Director, where's the fun in _that_?"

* * *

Back in the lab (which was quickly beginning to feel like both 'home' and 'prison') Bruce settled into what had become his favorite chair. All that standing and moving was killing him. He briefly considered, then reached into his pocket for the pain meds he'd mostly forgotten about. Well, he hadn't forgotten them. He'd been avoiding them, since they clouded his mind and made him drowsy. But his leg was, at this point, screaming at him and he figured that was just as distracting as dozing off would be.

Tony, who had been watching him, looked at the clock. "When was the last time you took those?"

Bruce replied, "This morning. When you gave them to me."

That had been over twelve hours ago. Tony shook his head. "I'm not sure, but I think they're indicated for every four hours. Actually I am sure. I read the label."

Bruce shrugged. "I needed to think. Can't do that when I'm halfway high." Tony started to say something, but Bruce interrupted him. "And don't even start. You would have done the exact same thing."

He had a point. Kind of. Except for one thing. "Maybe. But I would have been bitter as hell about it. And I wouldn't be suffering quietly. I mean, what's the point of suffering if no one knows about it?"

Tony, half-joking, had expected Bruce to ignore him, so he was surprised when the physicist said quietly, his voice flat, "It's pointless. Completely fucking pointless."

Well holy shit. Tony decided to press a little bit, to seize this teachable moment. "You don't have to be such a fucking martyr, you know."

Bruce sighed, one corner of his mouth quirking up. "I know that. Logically. It's just...hard. Trying to understand that it matters. It doesn't to me, not really. But I know it does to you. So I'm trying. Although," he gave a small laugh, "It probably doesn't seem like it."

Unsure of what exactly to say, but feeling oddly touched, Tony began, "Well, no one said it would be easy-"

"This is all very touching," Loki interrupted sharply, "But is this really the time?"

And the teachable moment was over.

"All righty, then," Tony said after a brief pause. He tapped his fingers against the top of the container that held the sphere. "Anyone have any ideas for this thing?" Personally, Tony had some ideas for it, most of which involved shoving it into one or more of Loki's orifices. It probably wouldn't solve any of their problems, but it would be really fucking satisfying.

Loki shot Tony an irritated look. Tony wondered for the second time if the demigod really could read minds.

"Perhaps I can," Loki announced. Tony jumped. "Or perhaps you are just exceedingly easy to read. And provoke."

"Actually, I have been thinking of something," Bruce said, interrupting what was sure to have become a wonderfully sarcastic verbal confrontation.

"Really?" Tony asked, effectively distracted.

"No. I've actually been sitting down here for hours doing absolutely _nothing_," Bruce replied irritably.

Tony ignored the snark. The physicist was in pain, despite how hard he'd been working to hide it. Tony could forgive him some bitchiness. "What're you thinking?"

"Well...radioactive things become less radioactive with time, right?"

"Yeah?"

Bruce looked at Tony expectantly.

And Tony picked up on Bruce's train of thought almost immediately. "What, are you suggesting we just let this thing sit here until it's...lost its energy? Is that possible? Even if its energy _does _decay like uranium or something, that could take billions of years."

Loki didn't know much about radioactive decay, but he thought he should point out, "The sphere _is _leaking energy. It is possible that the dwarves botched the binding spell. Indeed, it is quite likely."

"Right. Exactly," Bruce said, even though he wasn't quite sure if that the right thing to say. "And the amount of energy it's throwing off...Well, it can't be infinite. You said it _stores _energy, it doesn't create it, right?"

Loki nodded, contemplating. "That's true."

"Well, with enough time then, it would _have _to run out."

"Not to burst your bubble, Bruce, or rain on your parade, but I don't think sitting and waiting for a few billion years is going to be an option here," Tony commented after a moment. "We've kind of got a war coming."

"I know that. It was just a thought," he snapped. "Do _you _have a suggestion for what to do with this piece of shit before some alien non-dwarf dwarf fucks with time and destabilizes reality?"

Wait. "Fucks with time?" Tony said thoughtfully.

Tony and Bruce shared a look, the same idea flashing through both their minds simultaneously.

"We could..." Tony started.

"It's a terrible idea, but..." Bruce noted at the same time.

Loki, about half a second behind them, cautioned, "You cannot be serious. It _cannot _be done."

Tony always took that phrase as a personal challenge. "Why not?"

"You do recall that the reason your director is currently attempting to arrange an inter-realm war is to keep the Svartálfar from using this sphere to alter the flow of time? Because it is immeasurably dangerous to do so? Are you truly dense enough to suggest what I believe you are trying to?"

"The dwarf king wanted to slow down time around him so that he could live forever," Tony mused. "Maybe...we could speed up time around the sphere? Make enough time pass that it's rendered inert?"

So, yes. He _was _dense enough to make that suggestion.

"No," Loki countered, "We _cannot _do that. Altering the flow of time will almost certainly guarantee the destabilization of reality across all the realms. It will bring death and destruction to all corners of the universe." And as much as he loved chaos, that seemed like a bit much.

"Ha!" Tony retorted. "You said it will '_almost _certainly guarantee' it. Not 'certainly guarantee.' We can work with 'almost certainly.'"

Bruce was, as so often happened, amazed at Tony's selective hearing abilities.

"I have also said," Loki replied coldly, "That no one can wield the power of the sphere safely."

"Nope," Tony said. "You said 'practically no one.' I remember." He paused. "So, who could? Not the king of Svartálfaheimr, you've made that pretty clear. But I think you know someone."

Loki narrowed his eyes. Then, startlingly, he laughed. "I may have known someone, once, but I fear he shall be of no use. He was once one of the greatest sorcerers across all the realms, with power that inspired fear and awe in all who he called enemy." His mirth fading to just a small, ironic smile, he added, "But he has...entered into a forced 'retirement,' if you would."

Fucking fantastic. "To be clear," Tony said, "The only person who can save reality from crumbling around us is _you_. And you can't do it anymore."

"Correct," Loki answered. "As long as my magic remains bound by the All Father, I shall be of little help, I fear." And he almost looked regretful. Almost.

"Why don't we just get Odin to do it?" Bruce asked. "If he could bind your magic, he's clearly pretty powerful, too."

Loki snorted. "Odin will not get involved in this. He will wish to keep Asgard neutral."

"That's rich," Tony protested. "He sent Thor here to help. And this is all your damn fault. You're both involved in this shit. How the fuck is Asgard neutral?"

With a graceful shrug, Loki countered, "Court politics, Stark. It's very subtle. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

That was good, because he didn't. "All right, whatever. So, back to square one, then. Fuck!"

"...Maybe not," Bruce suggested, with a pensive glance at Loki. "I just seem to be full of bad ideas today, so here's another one. Blame the pain meds. But, uh, what if you had your magic back?"

"I do not think that is relevant. Odin would never consent to it."

"Not even to save _everything_?" Tony asked. "Damn, what a jerk."

"You do not know the half of it," Loki admitted, his tone bone dry.

Bruce knew he was probably going to regret this for the rest of his life. "There might be a way to circumvent him."

The look Loki gave him was calculating. "Oh?"

"Well...we do currently seem to possess an object that lets you circumvent just about anything," Bruce said quietly.

Now Loki looked much more attentive. "Oh, Dr. Banner," he purred, his hunger for mischief and disorder surging up inside of him, combining with his deep-seating longing to have his magic returned to him. The fusion of the two overrode any doubts or reservations he may have had. "You're more fun than I could have ever imagined."

* * *

"No fucking way," was Fury's response after he'd heard their plan.

Granted, it _was _an awful plan. It had about a thousand things that could go wrong, and any of them would result in mass destruction.

The biggest problem was the first step. Or maybe it was the part where they had to trust Loki with what was probably one of the most powerful items in the universe. Perhaps it was the part where they were putting the fate of all reality in the hands of a demonstrated megalomaniac who craved chaos like a drug.

Yeah, the plan had issues.

The first step, though, was using the sphere to break Odin's hold on Loki's magic. This had two major difficulties. First, the sphere could only be 'safely' used by an immensely powerful sorcerer. Second, any mortal who was within a half-mile of the sphere when it was used would very likely be vaporized.

Loki thought that using the sphere to do something minor like break Odin's spell _might _not destabilize reality. "In fact," he disclosed, "I am perhaps fifty-three percent certain."

Those were great odds.

It was at that point that Fury had shot the plan down. But, after thinking for a moment, he said, "Oh, fuck it. Give me specifics. I'll take just about anything at this point. Any ideas for how to do the first part?"

Loki explained, "As a matter of fact, yes. I believe that breaking Odin's spell with the sphere could very likely be accomplished by any mediocre sorcerer. I dare say it could even be accomplished by you, director, if you had fifteen minutes worth of instruction in the finer points of magic."

Fury snorted. "Yeah, I bet. Unfortunately, I'd be incinerated," he said. "What about Thor?"

"I suppose even he could manage, if he could restrain himself from bashing the sphere with Mjölnir first," Loki replied smoothly. "I have some doubts about his abilities in that regard, though."

"Right. So let me get this straight," Fury barked, rolling his eyes. "Thor—'cause it's going to have to be Thor—manages to break the spell binding your magic. Then you use the sphere to selectively speed up time, and keep it that way until that thing's out of power?"

"Sounds about right," Tony answered.

"Sure," Fury said, sounding only a little bit like he was about to have an aneurysm. "Small question, though."

"Yeah? Shoot," Tony quipped.

"Are you telling me that we're just supposed to trust this sonofabitch to play nice? We're going to just give him this hugely powerful fucking thing, give him his magic back, and hope for the best? He's a goddamned psychopath. Furthermore, if he has his magic, he can just leave. Worse, he can _come back_."

Bruce thought those were all legitimate points. But with a small grimace, he said, "Yeah, that's exactly what we're going to. Unless you've got a better idea. We don't have a choice."

Loki, at least, looked pleased with the situation.

And _that_ did not bode well _at all_.

* * *

Thanks to everyone who's reading and leaving feedback. I broke the 100 review mark, and it pretty much made my week. It was a nice change from how miserable and despondent my insignificant, feckless life usually is.

So, review. Please?


	14. Autonomy

Warnings: language…?

Thanks to irite for beta-ing and for being endlessly patient with my excessive updating.

I do not own the Avengers.

* * *

Fury had, to his amazement, been able to sell the plan to the Council. The finer details were still being worked out, but for the moment, they had decided on the following: They would bring the sphere back to the place it had originally landed. The forest there was already fucked up, so there wouldn't be much danger of a new forest fire or more mutated wildlife. Loki and Thor would open the container and do whatever the fuck it was they were going to do. Barton would keep an eye on the situation from a safe, no-risk-of-being-mutated distance. The rest of the Avengers (plus a pretty significant military presence) would be on standby, because Thor thought it was fairly likely that, once the container was open, the sphere would act like a beacon, drawing the dwarven retrieval force straight to them.

_At least that chunk of forest is pretty fucking empty_, Fury thought. _Collateral damage would be a nightmare in the city_. _Fuck it, I'm still cleaning up from the _last _time this happened._

Loki said that he believed the dwarves would give up and go home once it became apparent that the item they sought was no longer functional. Fury immediately distrusted that and so formed a plan involving a full-scale military response.

He tried to ignore the growing feeling that he had just played directly into some kind of nefarious plan.

Once all of that had been worked out, Fury had sent the Avengers off to various corners of the facility. He told them to reconvene at eight o'clock the next morning, and suggested that, if they found the time, they might want to try and get some rest.

Bruce, Loki, and Thor had settled down in one of the staff lounges to discuss the finer points of magic.

And now Loki was lecturing. "Any idiot can channel magic from an object in which it is stored. Little skill is required for that. The trouble only arises when one has to draw the power out of something living. Luckily, dear brother, such a daunting effort shall not be required of you."

Bruce thought that, under all the sarcasm and psychopathy, Loki really just liked to hear himself talk. That was all he had been doing for the better part of an hour. Bruce had, at first, at least tried to keep up the appearance of doing something productive, poring over his notes and observations. But, almost against his will, he found himself being dragged into Loki's lesson.

Because it turned out magic was _fascinating_.

For a quarter of an hour, Loki had talked about the physiological effects of using magic, how it could drain the life energy from the caster so thoroughly that, without care, he or she could die of exhaustion in a matter of minutes. Then he had spoken at length about focus, relaxation, and how it was necessary to have a complete mastery of the self, of one's passions, of the inner beast.

The trickster had said that last part with a pointed look and a smirk at Bruce.

Finally, though, it seemed like Loki was getting to the point. Because, as interesting as all of that had been, it hadn't been strictly necessary.

Which made Bruce nervous, because he knew that as crazy as Loki was, the demigod _never _did anything without a purpose.

Although his purpose very well might have been something as innocuous as attempting to aggravate his brother. The scathing tone that his discourse had taken seemed to point in that direction. But Thor was taking Loki's condescension and derision with remarkable patience. Indeed, the long-suffering look on his face seemed to speak of an extensive history of humoring his ill-tempered younger brother.

Thor had, honestly, not been overly impressed with their plan. After all, the last time he had gone directly against his father's wishes, he had ended up banished and his brother had nearly taken over the throne of Asgard. And Thor knew that this plan went against his father's wishes-under no circumstances would Odin have Loki's magic unbound, ever. Well, at least not for a _very _long while. At the same time, though, Odin had sent him to Midgard with instructions to help the people of that realm "in whatever possible way" he could. This plan, as ill-conceived and bound for disaster as it seemed, was their only viable option.

In this case, he thought it might be better to seek forgiveness than permission. He just hoped Odin would see that the ends justified the means.

He also hoped desperately that the ends _would _justify the means.

With a sigh, and ignoring Loki's latest round of insults, Thor asked, "Very well, brother. What is it, exactly, that _will _be required of me?"

Loki narrowed his eyes. "Very little. It is quite simple. All you must do is—"

He was interrupted by Tony bursting into the lounge. The billionaire had been, on Fury's orders, down in one of the labs going over the schematics for the radiation-blocking container SHIELD had made. Fury hoped that Tony could find a way to apply the design to his suit somehow, to make it so that the suit could protect him from the sphere's massive energy leakage. The director thought it would be advantageous to have more than one Avenger near Loki when the demigod was manipulating one of the most powerful items in the universe. Call him paranoid, but it just seemed like a good idea.

Tony hadn't had any luck, though. Which was why he had to talk to Bruce.

"Hey, Bruce, can I borrow you for a minute?" Without waiting for a response, Tony ducked back out of the room.

Bruce was reluctant to get up. For one, Loki had just gotten to the best part, and he didn't want to miss it. Second, his leg made moving really annoying. But he heaved himself off the couch he'd settled on and hobbled towards the door. He shot a regretful look back over his shoulder. Damn Tony's timing. Now he'd never know how that thing worked!

Loki smirked at him. "It is probably for the best that this information remain between me and my brother anyway, Banner. It is fit for neither men nor monsters, and I fear you are both."

Ouch. That was harsh.

Bruce let the door to the lounge slide shut behind him.

Tony was waiting just outside. Together, they started towards the labs. "I wanted to make sure you'd actually get out of there alive. I didn't like the way Loki was looking at you. Fucking creep," Tony remarked with a quick glance at the physicist.

Confused, Bruce asked, "What do you mean? He wasn't..."

Tony cut him off. "Yes, he was. What the hell was he talking about?"

"Magic. He was just getting to the good part, too."

"The good part?"

"Yeah, where he explains how that thing works. Now I'm never going to know. And after listening to him go on and on for a whole damned hour..."

"Hey, I'm sure it's on surveillance. Or you could always just ask him later," Tony supplied helpfully.

"I would probably rather stab myself in the eye with a fork than initiate a conversation with that psycho, Tony," Bruce deadpanned.

Oddly, Tony didn't find that particularly amusing, a fact clearly communicated by the glare he aimed at Bruce.

As they were entering the lab, Tony asked, "So, any ideas about why the God of Mischief was looking at you like you were some kind of fucking science experiment or something?"

"I really didn't notice, Tony. Are you sure you're not just imagining things?"

"Banner, what's more likely. That you missed a crucial social interaction, or I misconstrued one?"

Okay, maybe Tony had a point. Bruce's social aptitude was, at times, lacking. Tony had no such issues.

"I don't know then, Tony. Hell, I doubt even _he _knows. Crazy as a bag of cats, remember?" But even as the words were leaving his mouth, he began to feel uneasy. _Because Loki never does _anything _ without a purpose._

After a pause, Tony shrugged. "Whatever that whackjob's planning, we'll deal with it when we have to. We have a more pressing, but actually kind of related, issue."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"I can't figure out a way to make the suit block out the radiation that sphere is throwing off. At least not without increasing its weight by about a billion pounds, which would affect maneuverability, and that would throw flying out the window, and the power required to run something that heavy would be pretty unworkable..."

Bruce let Tony rant for a few minutes before gently interrupting him. "So, what's your point?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Well, Fury thinks someone needs to watch that freak while he's working his fucking alien voodoo."

"Alien voodoo?" Bruce snorted. "Thor will be there," he pointed out. "If he can't handle his brother, I don't think anyone else would have much luck." _Except me. And I'm _so _ not going there_.

"Yeah, but he'll be busy. And once Loki has his magic back, they'll be pretty evenly matched."

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. "That's true..."

"Anyway, it's apparently not going to be me. Steve's still human enough that he'd be incinerated. Romanoff's out for the same reason. Barton will be watching, but he'll be at least a half a mile away, probably more like a mile. He's pretty fucking scary, but I don't know if even he could take out a moving target at that distance."

Bruce nodded along. Slowly, though, he stopped. It occurred to him that Tony had listed off all possibilities, except for one. "Wait..." Then, emphatically, unequivocally, he stated, "No."

Tony was ready for that. "Look, I figured you'd hate the idea. But it wouldn't be that big of a deal—"

"Weren't you totally against this like five minutes ago?" Bruce interrupted. "I seem to remember something along the lines of 'don't feel like you have to go all green because SHIELD says so, Bruce,' and 'don't let people force you into saving the world, Bruce.' I thought you'd decided I was sitting this one out. So this is just a little unexpected." The smirk on his face looked more than a little unsure, as if he was apologizing for words he hadn't meant to say, but now couldn't take back.

He was right, Tony realized. "Yeah, but—" He cut himself off this time. There really wasn't a good excuse. He was doing exactly what he'd accused Fury of. Well, almost. He was assuming. Assuming that because Bruce _could _do something that he _would _do it. Given Bruce's particular set of issues, that was only a small step away from flat-out coercion.

Suddenly, he felt like an asshole.

Tony had just assumed that Bruce would want to go along with his plan, because it was the only workable solution. He'd expected that the physicist would understand that, would put the 'greater good' in front of his own desires. He had completely disregarded Bruce's opinion, his thoughts, his feelings. He had disregarded the possibility that Bruce would even _have _an opinion, thoughts, or feelings. Because clearly, no matter how much Bruce hated letting the Other Guy out, no matter how much it hurt him, ripped him apart (and Bruce made no secret of those things)...that was less important than doing what was "right."

This was the 'fact' that Bruce had internalized: he _should_do what was "right," what "needed to be done," regardless of his own wishes, because his own wishes didn't matter. The process of acceptance had been made so much easier by the self-loathing that had insinuated itself into his core, but it was really pounded home by the willingness of others to take advantage of it.

To Bruce, self-sacrifice wasn't a noble, carefully considered decision. There was no decision, no choice, because he didn't realize that there wasanother option. His every action was an apology for existing. For fucking up, for turning himself into a monster. And he would do anything to redress what he had done. That other people—first Fury, now _him _for God's sake—would take advantage of that was just icing on the cake.

But Tony had been trying to break that belief down, trying to show the physicist that there _was _another option. And now that Bruce was actually making a stand, albeit a tiny one, Tony was going to renege on everything he'd been trying to get Bruce to understand?

Fuck that. He was _not _fucking this up, not now, not when Bruce was finally making some progress.

Tony knew, had known for awhile now, that Bruce was a man who would do anything for other people. Fuck, he would willingly inflict pain and injury on his own body to avoid the possibility of hurting another person. He would, as Loki had so eloquently put it, self-sacrifice until there was nothing left, and he would see _nothing _wrong with doing it. And Tony realized, in light of that, that there was no way to ask _anything _ of the physicist, no way to even _suggest _an action, that wouldn't reek of coercion. So he had to drop it. Fast.

"You're right," Tony declared, and Bruce's eyebrows shot straight up. "We'll think of something else."

Tony couldn't decide if the surprised look on Bruce's face was funny or profoundly depressing.

* * *

The first "something else" that Tony thought of, though, was sleep.

"Look, you've been awake all fucking day, you've got a hole in your leg, and all this moving around has got to be killing you. Why don't you get some rest?"

Bruce shot him a disbelieving look. "You can't be serious. Impending world doom? Need to find Loki a babysitter? Aliens? War? And you want me to take a nap?"

Tony grinned at him, before saying cheerily, "Pretty much, yeah. No point in working yourself to death before the apocalypse. Besides, doesn't the codeine make you drowsy? Think of how tired you are. You are getting very sleeeeeepy..."

Bruce rolled his eyes. More seriously, Tony added, "You look like shit, you know."

"Oh, wow, thanks."

"Come on. Fury said we should try and get some rest. I'll wake you up in an hour or two. Promise."

But he didn't.

Bruce had finally acquiesced to resting when Tony made it clear that he wasn't going to acknowledge the physicist's contributions to the conversation until he'd had some sleep. "Um, is someone talking? Because I'm not hearing a scientist, I'm just hearing overtired, drugged rambling."

"That's mature, Tony. I'm not tired. Or particularly drugged, really."

"What was that?" Tony mimed trying to hear a very faint sound.

"Really. Really? Fine. There's a lounge a few hallways over, I'll be there. Wake me up in an hour."

And Tony had intended to, he really had. But then he'd gotten caught up in some calculations, and though they had ended up being worthless for the problem at hand, he'd had some really great ideas he wanted to implement if the world didn't end.

By the time he'd finished going over the data, it had been over three hours.

_Well, fuck_, Tony thought as he dashed out of the lab and down the hall. _Bruce is going to be pissed_. And _that _was eminently undesirable.

Except he wasn't. Upon entering the lounge, Tony saw that Bruce was sprawled out on what looked like a hideously uncomfortable couch. One arm was thrown over his eyes, blocking out the overhead fluorescent lights. His right leg was propped up at the end of the couch, his left was flung over the side, like his unconscious body was trying to escape from the torture of poorly made furniture.

He was sound asleep, completely dead to the world.

Tony considered waking him up. Instead, though, he settled onto the couch opposite and pulled out his tablet. He figured he could wake Bruce up in a little while. In the meantime, he wanted to take another look at that data...

He fell asleep sitting up.

And was awoken, almost four hours later, by someone furiously shaking his shoulder.

"What the _fuck _Tony, I said ONE hour, not seven!"

"...Wha...?"

"You were supposed to wake me up at midnight! It's almost six o'clock!"

Oh. Whoops.

Tony cracked his eyes open. And found himself face-to-face with an extremely irate Bruce Banner.

Well, his eyes weren't green. He couldn't be _that _pissed off. "Looks like somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Jesus. Do you have a case of the Mondays?"

"It's Sunday. Did you at least make any progress last night? How long were you asleep?"

Tony looked at his watch. "About four hours. And no, I didn't make any progress. But I had some really good ideas for the suit. And some ideas for a few other things. I'm going to make a fortune, if we're still alive at the end of the week."

"What are you going to tell Fury, then?" Bruce asked, looking decidedly unimpressed with Tony's genius.

Tony shrugged. "I'll tell him it can't be fucking done. Thor and Barton will have to be enough. He can deal with it."

Bruce had a feeling that wasn't going to fly.

* * *

Tony and Bruce put in another hour's worth of work before Tony declared that he was, in fact, starving to death. He dragged Bruce to the cafeteria for breakfast.

At eight o'clock, the Avengers (and one psychopathic God of Mischief) had re-assembled in Fury's office.

The director started the meeting in his usual blunt manner. "We're getting this shit over with tonight."

"Uh, director," Steve interjected, "Doesn't that seem a little...fast?"

But for once, Tony actually agreed with Fury. He said as much. "This plan's not going to get any less batshit crazy with time, Steve. And if there's going to be a war we should start it on our terms. The everyone know that the best offense is...a _good _offense."

Fury glared at both of them. "Do you mind if I finish?"

Tony, apparently, lacked the ability to recognize rhetorical questions. "Oh, no, by all means go ahead."

Fury closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. "Barton, Romanoff, Rogers. There's a town a few miles from the location we've chosen for this to go down. I need you to lead a team and work on evacuating it. I don't know how far this shit show is going to spread out, but I want as little collateral damage as possible. You're dismissed."

The three nodded and left.

"Thor," he went on, "Are you ready to do what you need to do?"

Looking only a little uncertain, the demigod replied, "I believe so. There are a few points that I would prefer my brother expound on further, but he has proved...recalcitrant."

Loki smiled, with a nearly-convincing "who, me?" face. No one bought it for a second.

"Nevertheless," Thor continued, "I think I am adequately prepared."

"Great," Fury said sarcastically. "Why don't you take your brother and see if you can...convince him...to be a little more forthright."

Thor knew that he and the director had rather different ideas about how to "convince" Loki. He suspected that Fury's methods might be more fruitful. But he would rather do things his way. He led his brother from the room.

"Stark, did you have any success with that thing we talked about?" Fury asked, when the door had shut behind them.

"What, Loki's babysitter? Not really. I can't make that kind of modification to the suit with less than 24 hours notice, Fury. Thor and Barton are going to have manage on their own."

Fury cast a calculating look in Bruce's direction.

Tony picked up on it immediately. "Fuck no."

"It's the only solution, Stark," Fury stated, infuriatingly rational. "We all know the Hulk can handle Loki. He's probably a better fucking choice than you—he follows orders better, anyway."

"Um...I have some pretty serious concerns about having the Other Guy anywhere near something as powerful as that sphere," Bruce remarked quietly. "He's not exactly gentle. A lot could go wrong. People could get hurt."

Fury made a dismissive gesture. "I have some pretty fucking serious concerns about letting Loki fondle that thing, but we're all taking risks here, Banner. You should step up."

"Director, I really don't think that's wise. The Other Guy is violent. Uncontrollable. A monster. I don't want to be responsible when—"

"Banner, what you want isn't really at the top of my list of concerns right now."

_Or ever_, Tony thought bitterly. Well, Bruce and the director had that in common, at least. But, ouch, what a thing to say.

Having been momentarily shocked into silence, Bruce took a second to recover before saying flatly, "Fine. I'll do it."

Tony was floored by how easily Bruce had capitulated. "You're kidding, right?"

He didn't miss the way the physicist began slowly clenching and unclenching his fist. When Bruce replied, his voice was strained. "No. The director's right. I need to do this. It's the right thing to do."

"Fuck that, Bruce, you said you didn't want—"

"I know what I said!" he barked, his voice increasing in volume, his eyes taking on a faint greenish tinge.

Fury was starting to look just a touch apprehensive. "Stark, Banner, is this really productive?"

They both glared at him.

After a tense moment of silence, Tony ground out, "Director, I am going to personally see to it that this is the last time Dr. Banner does anything for SHIELD. After this, he's done."

Tony knew with those words he was inviting a whole world of trouble into his life. Because you did not piss off the most powerful government agency in the world without repercussions.

"Don't you think that's a decision Dr. Banner should make for himself?" Fury asked.

Tony scoffed. Like Fury gave a shit about Bruce's autonomy. Still, he looked at Bruce, questioning.

"Dr. Banner agrees," Bruce said slowly. Fury turned to him, surprised. "I can't...I'm not going to keep risking the lives of innocent people because you need a tool." He paused, then added, "Are you going to lock me in a holding cell if I try and walk out that door right now?" One corner of his mouth turned up in a wry smile. It did nothing to hide the fact that he was terrified of what Fury was going to say.

Fury considered it. He actually fucking considered it. But, "No. The Council isn't going to like it, Banner. There will be consequences. It could get really fucking ugly. You might want to consider your decision very, very carefully. But I'm not starting that shit today. Not with everything else that's going on."

Bruce and Tony shared a long look. Tony could tell that Bruce was already questioning his decision, was already being pulled back under by self-doubt and self-loathing. Left to his own devices, Tony knew that Bruce would still throw himself under a bus in a heartbeat the second Fury asked him to.

But Tony wasn't going to let that happen. He just hoped desperately that he could do what he had said he would.

Bruce, who found himself suddenly in the uncomfortably vulnerable position of trusting someone, actually _trusting _someone, for the first time in years, hoped the same thing.

* * *

Thanks for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing! Or for any combination of the aforementioned.

Review...you know you want to.


	15. Contingency Plan

Warnings: just language, I think.

Please note that I know next to nothing about the following: Military organization, night vision anything, guns, and most of the natural laws governing movement on this planet (physics has always been my worst subject). Cut me some slack!

Thanks to my beta, irite, who's been a saint about my massive insecurity. A really, really helpful saint.

Finally, I do not own the Avengers. Sad but true.

* * *

Now that this thing was actually about to happen, Bruce was taking a minute to reflect on exactly how _terrible _of an idea it really was.

Because there was nothing quite like sitting (no fucking way was he standing if he didn't have to, not yet) half-naked (the top half, thankfully) in a recently burned chunk of forest, with a pair of demigods (one of whom was completely insane), waiting for the go-ahead to unleash an item so powerful it could disrupt the fabric of reality across the whole universe to make one reconsider their life choices.

And Bruce _was _reconsidering.

The previous twelve hours had been a flurry of activity and preparation. Steve, Clint, and Natasha had evacuated the nearby town, moving all of the residents to a city about 25 miles further north. Apparently, they had told the residents that a forest fire was encroaching on the area, and that the National Guard had ordered the evacuation.

Bruce was kind of amazed that had worked. Really, the three of them didn't look at _all _like the National Guard. Funny what people would believe if you looked 'official' enough while you were saying it.

Tony had returned to the Tower to get his suit ready and (Bruce suspected) to attempt to tell Pepper what was going on. Although, given the billionaire's previous attempts at keeping her in the loop, he probably hadn't met with much success. For someone who was so blunt, he sometimes had a remarkably difficult time breaking bad news. Granted, it wasn't _always _his fault.

For his part, Bruce had mostly hung around in the lab, keeping an eye on Loki (who seemed altogether too pleased or smug or something Bruce couldn't quite put his finger on) and the sphere, and going over the finer details of the plan as well as some last minute instructions.

"All right, so here's what going to happen. Fury's going to signal for you to open the container. Then, he's going to start moving towards us with his men. Once the sphere is neutralized, Thor, you'll handle Loki, and I'll go back to being myself. You'll signal with lightning, and we'll start moving towards them. If the dwarves show up, hopefully it'll be after we've met up."

Thor found he didn't much care for the word "hopefully" in this context. Loki had just smiled, the very picture of innocence.

Was Bruce imagining it, or was that smile becoming more and more feral every time it appeared?

Once they'd gone over the plan, Bruce had also spent some time worrying. Not about the possible impending end of the world. There was no point in worrying about that—it would happen, or it wouldn't. No, Bruce was worried what was going to happen if it _didn't_.

Because he'd put his foot down, taken a stand against being SHIELD's tool, even though he knew that Fury could have him in lockdown in a heartbeat. Given what Fury knew about him, Bruce thought there would be very few people who would stand in the way of such a move, if Fury chose to disclose that information. Those who would—Tony, the other Avengers—would put up one hell of a fight, though.

But Bruce wasn't sure that he could ask that of them. He wasn't sure if it might not just be easier to back down. And really, he might just be acting selfishly...maybe he _should _back down.

"You know, Dr. Banner," Loki spoke amicably into the silence, interrupting Bruce's train of thought. "I am rather surprised that you are here. Although, perhaps I shouldn't be." He smirked. "A well-trained beast does whatever its master commands it to, after all."

Bruce found that he couldn't wait until the happy day when he no longer had to listen to Loki talk.

Thor glared at his brother. "Silence. Banner, pay my brother no heed."

With a wry smile, Bruce said, "Don't worry, I'm getting pretty good at ignoring him. Anyway, there's nothing wrong with being a 'well-trained beast'. Better that, than a cat who's had its claws removed, right, Loki?"

The God of Mischief shot the physicist a venomous look that Bruce found he did not like one bit. It occurred to him that taunting Loki moments before he was due to get his magic back probably wasn't the best idea he'd ever had.

Maybe Tony's big fucking mouth was contagious.

In the distance, a flare exploded against the night sky.

Bruce shot a look at Thor. "That's our signal. You good to go?" He struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his left leg.

Thor nodded, fingers fumbling with the closures on the box. After a moment, he'd figured out the sealing mechanism, and moved to open the container.

"Wait," Bruce called, suddenly seized with uncertainty.

Thor stopped and looked at him. Impatient, Loki growled, "What is it, Banner?"

"I..." _I think this is a terrible fucking idea, I think you're planning something, I think I want to stop this before it gets out of hand, I think... _"Nothing. Remember, I'm going to transform pretty damn fast after you open that thing, and I'm going to be angry. Be prepared."

Thor nodded, unsure why Bruce had stopped him to tell him something he had mentioned no fewer than thirty-six times previously. "Of course. May I..." he gestured at the box.

"Yeah. Yeah, go for it." _This won't be so bad, Banner. Just relax. What's the worst thing that can happen?_

_You know what? Let's _not _go there._

Thor cracked the box open.

* * *

A few minutes before, and a bit less than a mile away (.763 miles, according to the GPS), Clint was awaiting the order to signal for Team Mass Destruction (his own nickname for the three people in charge of handling the sphere) to do their thing. In the meantime, Fury had ordered him to keep an eye on the situation and report anything that seemed noteworthy.

Clint had been tempted to ask, "Like what, the end of the fucking world?" but had refrained. Now was _probably _not the time to be giving the director attitude.

From his vantage point at the top of a Really Fucking Big tree, with the aid of his extremely powerful (Stark-designed, not SHIELD—Tony had insisted) night vision binoculars (and the nearly-full moon), he could make out three people standing in a rough circle, but that was about it.

He had a pretty damn good scope to match his pretty damn good binoculars, but he really hoped he wasn't going to have to shoot anything like this. Because, fuck, talk about picking the worst possible time to run this op. Clint was sure Fury had a reason (the man always did), but these circumstances were making it pretty tough to do his job.

Okay, actually he _knew _Fury had a reason, because the director had spent 20 minutes explaining it. Something about keeping an eye on potential fires, lower population, a bunch of other shit. That didn't change the fact it was a pain in the ass.

About another half-mile past Clint and the Really Fucking Big tree, Tony and Steve were waiting, trying to ignore the 2500 soldiers standing behind them. At least, Tony was trying to ignore them, not being an overly large fan of the military. Steve actually seemed about three seconds from trying to take charge of one of the companies.

The colonel who was _actually _in charge of the regiment was having some very loud and colorful words with Fury.

"Look, Fury, I have no fucking idea what I'm doing here. These boys have no fucking idea what they're doing here. And from what you've said, YOU have no fucking idea what you're doing here, either. So why don't you explain exactly what the fuck is going on?"

Fury did.

At the end of his explanation, the colonel was decidedly calmer. Or maybe he was going into shock—it was tough to tell in the current lighting. So Fury asked, "Are you all right?"

The colonel just nodded slowly. "I need to talk to my officers." He started walking away, but stopped after a few steps and remarked over his shoulder, "You're completely fucking insane, Fury. I think you've just doomed us all."

"Hey, don't blame me," Fury deflected. "Blame him," he pointed at Tony, "And Dr. Banner. This was their idea. Better yet, blame Loki, this whole goddamn mess is his fault. Why's everyone always fucking trying to blame me?"

"Burden of command, I think," Tony opined, not having gained the ability to recognize rhetorical questions at any point in the last twelve hours.

Fury glared at him. He found that he couldn't wait for the happy day when he would no longer have to listen to Tony Stark talk.

Finally, everyone was ready. At least, as ready as they were likely to get. Fury radioed to Clint to signal to Thor and Banner. He saw the flare go off in the sky, and got radio confirmation a moment later.

It was time to move.

* * *

Clint knew the second Thor opened the container, because it lit up his infrared like the Fourth of July. Which unfortunately, make it damn near impossible to see a Single. Goddamn. Thing.

He could see the glow in the distance, but couldn't make anything out.

"I'm blind here, Fury," he said into his radio.

Fury's response was a creative combination of words that Clint never would have thought to use together on his own.

* * *

Bruce had braced himself, but that never helped. This time, though, the agony of the transformation was overshadowed by the agony of the flesh burning off his body. Unwilling to stick around for either sensation, he let go, allowing the Other Guy to take over fully.

For once, it was a relief.

* * *

_Thor is_, Loki reflected, _rather more intelligent and capable than most people give him credit for_. He had the container opened and Loki's magical binding mostly removed before Banner had finished transforming.

Mostly.

While the God of Mischief was still helpless (well, relatively helpless, anyway), the Hulk honed in on him with a speed and intensity that Loki had not believed the beast to be capable of. "Puny god..." he had growled, with something approximating a smile, and then Loki had found himself flying through the air and crashing against the burnt and hardened trunk of a tree.

Ouch.

The creature had then picked Loki up by his right leg, and seemed about to commence slamming him into the forest floor in an encore of their previous encounter with each other, when Loki felt the tell-tale warmth of magic spreading from his chest down into his limbs.

Oh, to be _complete _again was truly a glorious feeling.

Also, Thor had not, apparently, brought about the end of the world. That was good news. Even though Loki had more faith in his brother's abilities than he had let on, he had still held some doubts about that particular part of the plan.

He had no doubts about the rest of the plan, though. About the rest of _his _plan. No, none at all.

With a twist, he freed his leg and fell to the ground. A simple spell rendered him invisible. Puzzled, the Hulk looked down at where the Puny God had been lying just a second before. Unable to find him, he stopped and looked, confused, at Thor.

"Go calm the beast, if you can," Loki breathed into Thor's ear, standing next to him now, invisible. "Distract him, at least, and I will finish here."

Loki took the sphere into his hands, so that it looked like it was floating in midair. Before the Hulk could become aware of that, though, Thor approached him. "Banner! My friend!"

The Hulk punched him into a tree, too. Well, he was distracted, at least.

Gingerly, Loki turned the sphere over in his hands. Yes, he could feel how the power was bleeding out of this, indeed, it exuded an almost painful feeling of loss that reached for his very core.

Still, if this was going to work, he needed to focus.

He calmed himself and emptied his mind, and cast a levitation spell, causing the sphere to hover just above his outstretched hands. Then, gently, with more caution than he had ever before employed for such an endeavor, he began to weave a feather-light temporal-disruption spell. Normally, such a spell was a parlor trick, only capable of speeding and slowing time by a tiny amount. The spell would only work if _both _occurred—the sorcerer had to balance the inconsistencies that he created in the flow of time. If only half of the spell was attempted, it would yield no results.

With the sphere, Loki was able to bypass those restrictions. Furthermore, he was able to pull power from the sphere, adding it to his own, increasing the potency of the spell by ten times, a hundred, a thousand times.

Soon, he was watching centuries fly by at his fingertips. It was exhilarating.

Although distraction could prove deadly at this juncture, Loki spared a quick glance upwards. He saw that his brother and the beast seemed to have stopped attacking each other. Thor was speaking rapidly, pointing often in Loki's direction. It seemed like Banner was, to some extent, understanding what Thor was trying to tell him.

Well, that was lucky. It would make the next part of the plan all that much easier.

He grinned.

Loki could feel the sphere in his hands growing less powerful. After a while (five minutes? ten? an hour? he couldn't tell) the sphere began to feel less like pure chaos on the verge of destruction and began to feel warmer, safer, calmer.

He sighed at the loss.

But this was the point where his plan veered off from Fury's. And for his plan to work, he needed to be able to control the sphere. In its previous state, that would have been impossible.

He ended the temporal-disruption spell abruptly. His plan began with gaining control of the sphere. That was done. Now, he intended to fix it, to make it into the tool it was meant to be. Concentrating, he began to mend the holes in the binding spell that were allowing power to leak from the sphere. Slowly, the flood of power flowing from the sphere became a trickle. Then, it dried up entirely.

Now, softly glowing instead of pulsing brightly as it had been before, Loki allowed the sphere to drop into his hands.

"It is done?" Thor asked, looking around him, anticipating something, though he was not sure what. The beast seemed equally at a loss.

Loki laughed. "Oh no, my brother. I fear it has just begun. I do believe, though, that _your _part in this has ended."

"Brother, what—"

A quick spell, more powerful than Loki should have been capable of (_oh, this sphere is a beautiful thing_) had Thor unconscious on the burned detritus of the forest floor.

_Yes_, Loki thought, _I could get used to this._

With a roar, the beast made it known that it did not approve of the trickster's actions.

That was okay, though. Loki did not seek the approval of those inferior to him. Besides...now it was time for some _fun_.

"It seems the cat has regained its claws, my dear Dr. Banner," Loki said with a smirk. "Why don't you come play?"

With that, Loki turned towards where he knew Barton and, further away, Fury and his army were waiting.

By reducing the sphere's power, Loki had changed the magnitude of what it was capable of. But that did not alter what it could do. He certainly would not be ripping reality into shreds, not anymore, but he still possessed an item capable of overriding the laws that governed the realms. He had already seen that the sphere could magnify his abilities beyond what should have been possible, even for a sorcerer as powerful as he was. Now he wanted to see what else it could do.

Well...what had Stark been saying earlier? Gravity? What goes up, must come down?

That seemed like a good place to start.

And then he was airborne. Free from gravity, his speed was such that he could remain easily just out of reach of the Hulk's smashing fists. Yet he remained close enough to taunt him along, dodging around the creature's feet, weaving in and out, a constant, irritating presence.

The Hulk was so intent on catching his quarry, he didn't hear the tiny voice screaming in the back of his mind, trying to tell him that Loki was leading him straight towards 2500 loaded guns.

The portal that had opened 500 yards behind them, and the army of dwarves streaming from it, did not register with either of them.

* * *

"It's done," Clint spoke into his radio.

"Repeat that, agent," came Fury's voice.

"I said it's done. It's gone completely dark."

"Do you see anything else?"

"No sir, it's really fucking dark out here. I might have mentioned that."

"Cut the shit, Barton. What do you see?"

He peered through his binoculars, and was about to reply "Nothing," when he saw _something_.

"Oh, fuck," he said, instead.

It was with a surprising level of composure that Fury replied, "What is it, Barton?"

"Uh. It's Loki, sir. And Banner. And maybe 3000 dwarves. They're heading right for me. And you."

"What the fuck? Where's Thor?"

"Not there, sir."

"Fuck! What's Banner doing?"

"It looks like he's trying to catch Loki. But...I think Loki's leading him on."

"What?"

"I think Loki is deliberately leading Banner to you, sir."

"Why the fuck...what about the dwarves?"

"They're maybe 500 yards behind, moving slower. They're falling back pretty fast."

"Jesus. Can you get a shot on Loki?"

"He's moving pretty quick. It's dark. I could try, but I might hit Banner. They're sticking pretty close."

"How far out are they?"

"Maybe half a mile. A bit less."

"Take the shot, Barton."

Fuck, he'd been worried Fury would say that. "Yes, sir."

Now, Clint was a pretty damn good shot. Actually, he was the _best_goddamn shot. But trying to hit a quickly moving target in dim lighting at a half-mile away? It was going to be a challenge.

Nevertheless, he lifted his rifle and, after making a few adjustments, took aim.

He fired.

And probably would have hit that sonofabitch, except for the glowing bubble that encased the trickster at the last moment. It was, apparently, some kind of shield.

When it had faded, Loki and Bruce had become close enough that Clint could see the softly glowing sphere clutched in the demigod's hand.

_Shit_. "Director, we have a problem."

"I was aware of that, agent."

"No, sir, it's worse. Loki is using the sphere."

"I thought you said it was de-activated."

"Apparently I was _wrong_, sir. That bastard's got it in his hand."

"Where are they now?"

"Quarter of a mile from me. Where are you?"

"Almost there, Barton."

Ah, he _could _hear the sound of 2500 people moving through the woods. Not exactly subtle. Kind of hard to miss, now that he'd noticed it.

"Where are the dwarves?"

"Half a mile from me, sir."

"All right, agent. We're five minutes out."

Clint wasn't sure that was close enough.

* * *

Loki's plan was brilliant.

At least, he thought so.

He couldn't believe that the Avengers had been naive enough to trust him. It was actually stupefying. Granted, he _had _actually fulfilled his part of the bargain. The sphere was no longer so powerful as to be a force of unimaginable chaos. And it wasn't going to fall into the hands of the dwarves—even if it did, though, it would be useless to them.

So really, he had been true to his word. The thought made him a little nauseated.

Loki had been planning this for...a while. The first tendrils of his scheming reached to a point prior to his imprisonment, prior even to his bid for domination of Midgard, for the God of Mischief was never entirely without a contingency plan.

The specifics, of course, came later. Still, Fury and his Avengers had played into his manipulations with more vigor and enthusiasm than he could have expected in his wildest dreams.

It would never cease to amaze him how trusting others could be. They had sought his advice, and listened to him with _so _little caution. They had believed his words, the words of one who had been called "Lie-smith."

What was he to do with that kind of foolish trust, but break it?

The final part of his plan hadn't crystallized completely until he had found himself with Banner as his companion tonight. Certainly, he had been pondering dear Dr. Banner for days, picking him apart, ruminating on the possibilities. Loki found him fascinating, had found him so since before their first encounter all those months ago.

Loki had nearly decided to scrap the final phase of his plan moments after its inception, thinking it would be wiser to beat a hasty retreat to some far-flung corner of the universe as quickly as he could after gaining control of the sphere. But then Banner had made that little comment about him lacking claws and well, that couldn't go unpunished.

Besides, he couldn't pass up this opportunity to teach Director Fury a little lesson. One should never manipulate a force they cannot fully control. Fury had been foolish to think that this beast was anything other than a monster. Loki would show him the error of his ways.

So he took advantage of the Hulk's single-minded focus, leading the beast straight towards Fury and the waiting army.

At some point, Loki had become aware of the dwarven army that was following them through the darkened forest. But that was hardly his problem. He could get out of here easily enough, whenever he wanted to.

Now, though, twinkling far in the distance, he could see the headlights up ahead, indicating the presence of Fury's forces.

Oh, this was going to be _fun_.

* * *

So, I'm hoping to have this done by the time classes start in two weeks. By saying that, I probably just guaranteed that it won't be. But that's the proposed timeframe.

Thanks to everyone reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing. Every time I get an e-mail notification, it brightens my day by exactly 3.7%.

That said, please review. Every 3.7% counts.


	16. Cold Comfort

Warnings: language.

Thanks to irite for being beta-tastic, and for keeping Fury at the level of asshole that we've all come to love and expect.

I do not own the Avengers.

* * *

A few steps behind Fury, Tony and Steve couldn't really make out Clint's words over the radio. They could clearly hear the director, though, and when he said, "Can you get a shot on Loki?" they became fairly worried.

"Director...?" Steve questioned. Fury held up a hand, silencing him.

"How far out are they?" The reply was garbled, but apparently Fury could understand it. "Take the shot, Barton." Casting a look over his shoulder, he pointedly moved to a distance where Tony and Steve couldn't hear the rest of his conversation. A minute later, he returned, shoving his radio back into its holster. He sized up the two Avengers, who wore matching expressions of concern. He didn't address whatever had happened, though, and just asked, "Where's Romanoff?"

"What the fuck's going on, Fury?" Tony asked, ignoring his question.

"I need Agent Romanoff," Fury insisted, ignoring _Tony's _question.

Steve thought this standoff was a really good way to ensure that no one ever learned anything, ever. "Natasha took the back, to make sure nothing was going to sneak up on us that way. Now what's going on?"

"Does she have a goddamn radio?"

"No," Steve said, "Director—"

"Could you _call _her then?"

"Sure, but what am I—"

"Tell her that Thor's been incapacitated by his fucking brother, and that Loki is now leading the fucking Hulk straight at us. In addition to what Barton estimated to be 3000 motherfucking dwarves. Oh, and Loki's using the sphere, he didn't destroy it, he fucking _fixed _it or some shit. So if she could get up here, that would be great."

"...Oh." And Steve, thankfully better about following orders than Tony, whipped out his phone.

Tony took the opportunity to grill the director. "The fuck, Fury?"

Well, his interrogation technique needed work, apparently.

"I don't know, Stark, but we'll be at Barton's location in five to ten minutes and hopefully we make it there before Loki and Banner."

When he'd told Barton "five minutes," it had been just a _little _optimistic.

"And if we're not?"

Fury shrugged. "Agent Barton is a skilled field agent. He'll be able to handle himself until we _do _get there. But don't worry about it; _you're _going to lend him a hand."

Well, it was good to know that Fury was a huge asshole to everyone, and hadn't been singling Bruce out all this time. But didn't the director seem awfully _calm _about all of this?

"What the hell, Fury? Aren't you a _little _fucking concerned about this?"

Fury smirked. "Stark, the part I was worried about is over. There wasn't an apocalypse. The rest of this, we can deal with."

That was one way to look at it, Tony supposed. "But what about Loki? And the Hulk? Loki's leading them here and—oh my God."

"What?" Steve asked, done with the phone. "Natasha will be here shortly, director. Tony, what's wrong?"

Because Tony had gone very, very white.

"Loki is leading the Hulk _here_."

That wasn't good, Steve knew. Even if the Hulk wasn't as dangerous as Bruce thought he was, there was still a pretty high chance of collateral damage.

But the horrified look on Tony's face seemed out of proportion to that. "It's okay, Tony, we can just—"

"I don't think the Hulk likes the military very much, Steve."

Steve hadn't read the files, of course. He didn't have the security clearance. That sort of thing had never really been of consequence to Tony, though, so of course he'd perused everyone's files at length. And Tony knew exactly what had happened the last time the Hulk had gone up against the military.

Of course, he didn't know for _sure _that the Hulk would ever remember that. His sudden panic might be baseless. But if he'd learned one thing working with the Other Guy, it was that he shouldn't be underestimated. And that included his memory.

"What do you mean?" Steve asked.

It was Fury who answered him, though. "For several years after his accident, Dr. Banner was hunted by General Thaddeus Ross. In the course of that, he had several run-ins with the military, none of which ended well."

Tony thought that was kind of an understatement.

"Your concern is noted, Stark, but it's not necessary," Fury finished, just as Natasha appeared, pushing her way through a group of soldiers.

Tony thought that flat dismissal was just a little...off. What wasn't Fury telling them?

"Sir?" Natasha asked, before Tony could try and puzzle that out too much.

Fury filled her in on the current situation.

"All right. What do you need me to do?"

"You're with Stark and Rogers. Head up to Barton's position. Try to hold Loki off. If those damn dwarves get too close, pull back. Otherwise, we'll be there soon."

Natasha nodded.

"Group hug, then, everyone!" Tony declared, deciding not to question orders for probably the first time in his life. He slid the faceplate of the suit down. He grabbed Natasha under one arm and Steve under the other. With no warning, he took off.

Steve decided he did not like this method of traveling at all.

* * *

With the help of JARVIS, Tony had honed in on Clint's location almost immediately after takeoff. He landed at the base of Clint's tree less than a minute later.

"You gonna come down, Legolas?" Tony called, setting Steve and Natasha down as gently as he could manage.

"No, I think I'm good," he replied.

Tony rolled his eyes. "What's the situation?"

"Loki and the Hulk are less than a quarter of mile out. They got hung up for a few minutes; I think Loki crashed into a tree or something. It's kind of hard to see." A roar echoed in the distance. "Not so hard to hear, though."

"And the dwarves?"

"Further back."

Tony flew up next to Clint. "Where's Loki?" Clint pointed, and Tony (well, JARVIS, really) was able to pick out Loki and the Hulk, weaving through the forest. He ran a quick analysis of the situation, then called, "Okay, we've got less than three minutes until they're here. What's our plan? Steve?"

"Fury wants them held up. I think we can manage that. Let's focus our efforts on the Hulk. Loki's an unknown quantity right now. We don't know what he's doing or why. If you see an opportunity to take him down, then take him down. Otherwise, try to keep the Hulk engaged—"

A sudden flash of lightning and an accompanying crack of thunder interrupted him.

"Hey! Stellar job watching your brother," Tony quipped, knowing now what sudden, unexplained mini-storms heralded.

Thor looked disheveled, a touch frantic, and not particularly amused. "My brother has—"

"Yeah, we know," Clint called down from his tree. "He's heading this way with the Hulk now."

"And the dwarves—"

"Got that, too," Tony said.

"Then why are we just waiting here? We must stop them!"

"We're going to," Steve replied. "But first we need to stop the Hulk, before he gets to Fury and the army. Can you get a handle on your brother?"

"Yeah, that worked out really well before," Tony scoffed.

Thor glared at him. Tony glared back.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Can you two maybe save the macho posturing for later?"

"Sir," JARVIS spoke into Tony's ear, "Loki and Dr. Banner will be arriving at your location in one minute. Fifty-nine seconds. Fifty-eight..."

Tony couldn't listen to that for the next minute, it would drive him insane. "Mute. Incoming, guys. Less than a minute."

That shut everyone up.

Another roar, followed by the sound of trees snapping like twigs. With only the light of a couple of flares and Tony's arc reactor, it was too dark for anyone but Clint and Tony to see them coming. The pair kept a running commentary, but it still seemed sudden when Loki and the Hulk exploded into view.

Loki actually crashed into his brother, knocking him over. He took half a second to take in the other Avengers before taking off again without a word, flying straight up.

Tony blasted off after him, with Thor following a second behind.

Steve wondered why he bothered giving orders at all.

Steve and Natasha had been braced for an epic battle, so they were a little disconcerted when the Hulk looked up into the night sky and roared, frustrated, but didn't immediately attempt to attack either of them. He growled, and snapped a tree in half, throwing it in the general direction that Loki had flown, but then began a kind of lumbering, aggravated pacing.

Clint kept an arrow trained on him (not that he thought it would do much more than annoy him, but it was the best he could do for the moment), tense and waiting. But the Hulk just paced and growled.

"What the _hell_..." Natasha whispered. Sure, she knew that Banner could have a fair amount of control, but she had thought that would have gone out the window as soon as Loki had started fucking around with him. Apparently, that wasn't the case. Despite Banner's apparent control, though she found herself reluctant to draw any unnecessary attention to herself. Steve seemed to have drawn the same conclusion, as he was frozen in place, wearing the same surprised expression that she imagined she was.

A few tense moments later, following the sounds of a battle about 500 feet in the air, Thor landed in front of them, holding onto his brother's arm with a grip strong enough to bend metal. Loki appeared only mildly uncomfortable, however. Both demigods appeared mussed, but uninjured. Tony landed with metallic 'thunk' a second later, his suit dinged and battered, but otherwise fully functional.

Natasha was floored. Loki had been apprehended that easily? He was a formidable opponent, even without a traditional weapon in hand.

The Hulk made an immediate movement towards Loki, but Thor held up a hand. "He has been defeated, Banner. Your job is done."

Steve and Natasha about fainted when that _worked_, and the Hulk stood down.

Tony, oddly, didn't seem too surprised. But then again, he'd been championing the Hulk's control for months.

Loki didn't _seem _particularly defeated, though, despite Thor's words. In fact, he looked completely at ease, and more than a little smug. Like the cat who had swallowed the canary. "I have really enjoyed this, my friends. Truly, I have. And perhaps we shall meet again, someday." He flicked his left wrist subtly.

_Fuck_, Tony thought, catching a glimpse of something glowing in the trickster's hand. _He's going to make a break for it._

He lunged towards the demigod, just as Loki finished, "But I doubt it." And vanished.

Just...vanished.

Thor was left holding empty air. Tony stumbled, and the demigod instinctively righted the billionaire.

And in the sudden silence, the sounds of two approaching armies was loud and clear.

* * *

The Hulk did not like it when Loki vanished. Because that had happened once already, and the Puny God had come _back_. He couldn't trust that the Puny God was gone. The Hulk needed to guard the Puny God. He couldn't do that if he couldn't _see _him.

Added to that, there was something _loud _moving towards him.

He didn't know what it was. And the Hulk did not like surprises.

Lacking most vocal abilities, he settled on his old standby, and roared.

"Is Loki gone?" Steve asked.

"Yes," Thor admitted tersely. "Were he simply invisible, I would still be able to feel him here. He has...departed."

"To where, exactly?" Natasha thought that was kind of important. Had Loki just transported himself to the other end of the forest, or had he left the planet entirely?

"I know not, I fear. He could be anywhere."

"But he's not here. So we have a more pressing problem," Tony pointed out, indicating the increasingly-irate Hulk. "Fury's practically on top of us. The dwarves are practically on top of us. We need to get him out of here."

"Right," Steve began, raising his voice over the approaching rumble of engines. "I'll—"

But the first of the military vehicles growled into sight.

And the Hulk growled right back, taking an aggressive step forwards as the headlights splashed across him.

_Fuck_, Tony thought again. _Could this go any more badly?_

The front few lines of soldiers following the vehicles froze in place.

Everyone stood still as stone for about three or four heartbeats. Then, Fury (who Tony could see, standing at the front, maybe 200 feet down the line) said something into his radio.

The Hulk took another step forward, with a roar that would have shaken the leaves on the trees, if any had remained.

The soldiers in the front line raised their guns, looking to their officers for some kind of orders.

As it turned out, the Hulk _hated _guns. He roared again.

Behind the Avengers, the sounds of the approaching dwarves were unmistakable. They had maybe five minutes, probably less, before they were inescapably wedged in between two armies.

A single shot rang out.

The tension that had been growing increasingly taught for the last several moments_ snapped_. The Hulk leapt forwards, enraged, towards the shot's source. His hatred of guns was matched only by his hatred of those who carried them. They were all, without exception, in need of smashing.

He landed amid the soldiers, turning left and right, fists knocking against anyone and anything that couldn't get away. Within a second, though, before he could get any further, and before any of the soldiers could react with more gunfire, four more shots rang out. They were so fast and close together that they almost sounded like one.

In the headlights, Tony could see the silhouettes of four tranquilizer darts sticking out of the Hulk's body, one on each arm, and two in his neck.

Annoyed, the Hulk pulled the darts from his arms. He reached for the ones in his neck, but it was clear that he was becoming rapidly disoriented.

_Looks like the new tranquilizer SHIELD's been developing has moved on to the testing phase_, Tony thought angrily. _And everyone thinks _I _move on to human testing too fucking fast._

It occurred to him that SHIELD might not consider this human testing, though. They probably thought this still counted as animal testing.

Tony found that infuriated him even more.

The tranquilizer seemed pretty damn effective. The disorientation had progressed to apparent paralysis in a matter of seconds. Then unconsciousness.

The Hulk was un-transforming, shrinking back into Bruce's much smaller, frailer form. _ A form that might not be able to handle that kind of heavy sedation_, Tony thought, alarmed.

Tony stepped forward, but Steve beat him there, kneeling next to Bruce and feeling for a pulse. It took him several seconds to find it. "His heartbeat's really slow, Tony," he remarked, worried.

"Well that _was _the point," Fury said, coming over. "Nice work, Barton," he called in the general direction of the Really Fucking Big Tree.

Tony shouldn't have been surprised—there was really only one person here who could shoot like that, but still, "Barton! What the fuck?"

Clint hopped down from the lowest branches of the tree, landing in a crouch. He straightened. He looked, Tony noted, like he felt uncomfortable with this situation. So that was good.

His words were a little less than apologetic, though. "Fuck you, Stark, it's not like I wanted to do this—"

"Don't blame Agent Barton," Fury interrupted, infuriatingly calm and condescending. "He was just following orders."

Tony wondered if he was the only one for whom that phrase incited irrational anger.

Fury went on, "I thought Loki might try something. And do you really think I'm fucking stupid enough to have the Hulk within five miles of 'normal' people without some kind of contingency plan? He's dangerous. And it was one of the caveats that the Council set before they would allow this plan to move forward. We had to be prepared, Stark."

Tony glared at him murderously, but it was Natasha who spoke first. "And it didn't occur to you to just leave him out of this, instead of resorting to tranquilizing him like he's a wild animal?"

"It did, actually."

"But you decided that _this _was better." Steve said, slowly. "We could have done this without him, Fury. It all went to hell even though he was here."

Fury didn't respond to that, just said, "Stark, bring Banner to the medical team at the back. They'll take care of him. We have something else that we need to do before tonight's over."

The dwarves were moving into formation less than 200 yards away.

* * *

The battle, if you could call it that, was ridiculously anticlimactic.

For one, the dwarves didn't have weapons that could, in any way, compete with the United States Army. The Chitauri had used those weird ray guns, but the dwarves were not so equipped. Trying to win a battle using swords and axes against an enemy with rifles and tanks was not really an intelligent endeavor.

Being quite intelligent, the Svartálfar realized the futility of this very quickly.

Second, they really did seem to give up and go home when it became clear that the sphere was no longer in the area. They had been drawn to its power, had followed it through the forest, but then they had lost track of it. The Svartálfar were not stupid, after all; they knew what that meant. It was gone. And being reasonably intelligent, they were not inclined to wage a war for nothing.

Fury couldn't believe that Loki had actually been telling the truth on that point.

So, within 45 minutes, the dwarves had trickled back through their portal, with their metaphorical tails between their legs.

Still, even a battle lasting less than an hour is still a battle, and there were quite a few casualties, though no deaths. Locating the wounded in the dark took a fair amount of time, and it wasn't until almost two hours after the battle that Tony was able to break away and go see Bruce.

Except...he couldn't _find _Bruce.

He found the place where he had _left _Bruce easily enough. The medics there didn't seem to know what had happened to him, though. They were busy trying to save lives, and hadn't been able to spend much time on a guy who was fine, except for a little bradycardia.

"He might have just gotten up and left," one of the medics told him, in what he thought was a comforting, helpful tone.

It wasn't comforting _or _helpful. Trying—and failing—to ignore the spike of rage that stabbed him at the phrase 'a little bradycardia' (Because Bruce's heart rate had been well below 60 beats per minute, maybe even below 50, and that was kind of a problem), Tony stalked up to Fury. He didn't care at all that he was interrupting what was probably a very important meeting between the director and Colonel Douchebag (Tony couldn't be bothered to figure out what his real name was).

"These medics are fucking incompetent, Fury. Where the hell is Bruce?"

Fury glared at him. "How the fuck should I know? I've been kind of _busy, _Stark, you might have noticed."

"Yeah? Well, your idiot fucking medic was just trying to tell me that an extremely heavily sedated patient just got up and walked off. I don't really think that's what happened—"

Their escalating confrontation was interrupted by Fury's phone ringing. He looked at the display for a moment before clenching his jaw and answering, "This is Fury."

He listened for a minute, his expression inscrutable. "What? I didn't authorize that."

A pause. And now the director was beginning to look...something. Shocked maybe, if Fury could even _feel _shock. "On whose authority? I didn't—"

Suddenly, Fury turned and glared at Colonel Douchebag next to him. The colonel lost some of the color in his face, like he knew _exactly _why Fury was looking at him that way. "Yeah, I got it. Tell them that this might be the stupidest fucking thing they've done since they tried to nuke Manhattan. And that was fucking _stupid_."

This didn't sound good.

Fury hung up, and placed his phone back into his coat pocket. Then, with no warning, he turned and punched Colonel Douchebag in the face, knocking him to the ground.

Flexing his fist and turning to Tony, he said, "The good news is, I've found Banner."

Just a _little _put off by what had just happened, it took Tony a moment to reply. "Oh."

"This fucking moron," Fury continued, gesturing at the colonel, "Apparently made a call to his boss, who called _his _ boss, who called _my _boss. And now we have a situation."

"...A situation?"

Fury nodded. "Based on _his _report, the Council decided to take a closer look at Dr. Banner. In the course of their investigation, they've uncovered what they considered to be 'incredibly alarming' information." Fury shot Tony a pointed look, his meaning clear: they know _everything._ "Based on what they found, combined with the colonel's report, they have decided that Bruce Banner is a top-priority security risk. He has been apprehended and taken into lockdown. What the _fuck _did you tell them, colonel?"

Now standing and massaging his jaw, Colonel Douchebag wasn't too inclined towards being polite. "The fucking truth, Fury. That monster was completely out of control, it could have killed my boys—"

"That was hardly a risk, I had the situation under control—"

"Yeah, it really looked that way, Fury."

They continued to bicker, but Tony tuned them out. He was still about ten seconds back in the conversation, on the phrase "apprehended and taken into lockdown."

Interrupting Fury and the colonel, Tony stated, "So, to be clear, while we were fighting this not-so-epic battle, some goon from SHIELD or the Council or something just came by and fucking took Bruce?"

"Something like that," Fury replied, cautiously.

"Took him _where_?"

Now Fury hesitated. "I don't think you need to know that—"

"Don't fuck with me, Fury."

"Or what? Look, I know this isn't ideal, but it's out of your hands. It's out of mine. And..." More calm now, he took a second to consider and added, "Maybe it's for the best, actually."

Tony couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Yeah, you would come around to the idea. You were about to lose your tool. Now you've got it locked up nice and safe. How convenient for you. That's a nice show you put on, punching Colonel Douchebag, I almost believed that you were upset about this."

The colonel seemed a little affronted by his new nickname, but wisely chose not to say a word.

Tony turned to leave. He had to find Steve. And Romanoff and Barton, he had to learn if they could be depended on. They had indicated their support earlier, but this was going to be a more direct opposition of their boss. Because he wasn't going to let this happen, not after everything he had said, had done, had tried to make Bruce understand about himself. This was_ not _how this was going to end.

To his retreating back, Fury said, "I might not be the only person who thinks it's for the best, Stark. You might find that Banner agrees with me. Once he finds out what almost happened..."

Tony's only response was a very rude gesture.

* * *

When Bruce awoke, he was more groggy and disoriented than he had ever been in his life. He couldn't even move, could barely even open his eyes.

Even forming a coherent thought was hard through the syrup-sticky confusion clouding his mind.

Coming back from the transformation wasn't like this. What the _fuck _was going on?

Cracking his eyes open, he saw that he was surrounded on all sides by sterile white. And glass.

And he couldn't move, not because he was too out of it, but because he was physically restrained.

An IV dripped something into his arm.

He sighed and closed his eyes.

At least it was a bed, and not a lab table.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Please review; they are the sun that warms the frozen, barren wasteland of my existence, etc.


	17. Consequences

Warnings: language.

Thanks to irite, for seeing this through to the end.

I do not own the Avengers, despite my best efforts at acquiring the rights.

* * *

Convincing Steve to join up with him took only as much time as the explanation of what had happened. Within five minutes of his conversation with Fury, Tony had Steve's complete support.

Thor had been even easier to convince. He felt terribly for the actions of his brother, and the trouble they had caused. He thought, furthermore, that the fact that it was Dr. Banner who was being mistreated in such a way was insupportable. Apparently, he had something of a soft spot for the physicist. Tony had actually had to restrain him from confronting Fury that very instant.

Clint and Natasha took longer. Infuriatingly longer. But really, as annoying as it was, Tony couldn't blame them. What he was asking them to do was far more risky for them that it was for him. Their jobs were on the line. More importantly, they both, to some extent, owed SHIELD their lives. Tony knew that turning on that wasn't something that they would just do in a heartbeat. They were too loyal.

But loyalty to the team that had become something like a family won out in the end.

All told, it took them three days to come around to his side. Three agonizingly long, torturous days, where Tony paced his penthouse and ignored all his phone calls and drank far too much scotch. Three days of barely-contained frustration, of insomnia and missed meals. Three days of his imagination running away with him, constructing increasingly elaborate and gruesome scenarios about what, exactly, 'lockdown' entailed.

Steve and Thor had taken the waiting better. Steve took his frustration out on 100 lb punching bags, and when those exploded, he went for runs that would put veteran marathoners to shame. Thor spent an inordinate amount of time pestering the supersoldier to spar with him, which kept them both occupied.

After three days, when the assassins had committed, Natasha told them everything that she knew, holding nothing back.

"This," she said, indicating one of the floors on a blueprint of SHIELD's medical wing that Tony had appropriated with a little help from JARVIS, "Is where they would bring him."

"That's all storage," Tony pointed out, being rather well-versed in reading blueprints.

But Natasha rolled her eyes. "No, it's not. Not anymore. They renovated this whole corridor several months ago."

"Ah. And it's Hulk-proof? The whole floor?"

She nodded. "Every room, in theory."

Tony didn't want to think about the 'why' of that too much; he thought it might piss him off. More than he already was, anyway. "So, not at all. Okay. What kind of security are we looking at?"

He figured it would be an impenetrable fortress.

"Honestly? Not that much. Almost everything is automated, there's very little personnel. Too dangerous for them. There's a doctor on the floor at all times, a few nurses, and a pair of security guards monitoring who comes and goes. Getting in won't be a problem."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "That seems awfully lax."

Natasha nodded. "Yes. It is. I don't think it occurred to them that anyone would attempt to break _in_. Who would be stupid enough to try and rescue an uncontrollable rage monster?" Tony glared at her, but she ignored him. "There are more defenses against breaking _out_, though."

"Like what?"

"If the door to Banner's room is tampered with, the whole floor will be locked down. Doors and windows. It's automated, like I said. If that happens, you'll see more than a pair of security guards."

"Can the system be overridden?"

The answer SHIELD had provided when _she _had asked that question had been an unequivocal 'no.' But this was Tony Stark. "Possibly. If it can be done, you'd be the one who could figure out how."

And so the beginnings of a plan were formed.

* * *

For the first twenty-four hours, Bruce did not move. Between the drugs and the restraints, it wasn't like that was really an option. He couldn't even really feel his body enough to worry about moving it.

He was vaguely aware of people coming and going. Who he assumed were doctors, or scientists, with clipboards and notes. Sometimes nurses came in and fiddled with the needle in his arm, or with the tubes that were running to and from places he didn't really want to think about.

On the second day, he felt more like himself. He was still drugged out of his mind, but he thought they must have lowered the dose. He could feel the restraints on his wrists and ankles, which meant he could feel his limbs, and that was new. He began to think about his current situation, trying to remember what had happened that had landed him here, but he couldn't make much progress on that front through the cotton in his mind.

Bruce's suspicion about the dose being lowered was confirmed early on the third day, when he woke up. Actually _woke up_. He was groggy as hell, but coherent enough to think. And to speak. Which he immediately got an opportunity to do.

"How do you feel?"

Bruce did not know that voice. It was female, cold and hard. Turning his head, he tried to see who she was, but she was somewhere out of his line of sight. Still restrained, he couldn't really move to get a better look.

He had a funny feeling that, whoever this woman was, she didn't especially care how he felt.

He tried to say, 'Does it matter?' but his throat was too dry, and all that came out was a pathetic rasp. He swallowed a few times, trying to wet his throat.

She didn't offer him a drink.

Instead, she launched into an explanation of the drug that was currently being pumped into his body. Apparently they had been adjusting the dosage, trying to find the minimum amount required to keep him at the ideal level of sedation. Constantly overdosing him would be detrimental to his health, after all, and they certainly didn't want to harm him.

Bruce hadn't been able to contain his snort of derisive laughter at that.

She hadn't sounded amused when she asked him what he was laughing at.

Instead of addressing that (it was so obvious, he didn't think it needed explaining) Bruce rasped, "My memory's not so good lately, but I don't remember signing a consent form for this." The words dragged like barbed wire in his throat.

"Dr. Banner," she started, and Bruce marveled at the incongruity between being addressed as 'Dr. Banner' and being treated like some kind of lab rat, "You are a level-one security risk."

Like he even knew what the hell that meant. "...Okay?"

She went on, "In addition to your actions three nights ago, SHIELD and the Council has also uncovered evidence that you are dangerously unstable."

Bruce had _no _idea what had happened three nights ago. "What?"

"We have video footage indicating that you had, until three nights ago, been suffering from a rather severe self-inflicted injury. That kind of instability cannot go unaddressed in someone with your...condition."

He wondered if it would help or harm his situation if he pointed out that it was a way of dealing with his 'condition.'

But that hadn't _actually _been what he had been asking about. "What happened three nights ago?"

Flatly, she informed him, "You attacked a regiment of the United States Army, Dr. Banner. Several men were injured, a few of them quite severely. Some of their injuries may yet prove fatal."

"I...what?"

"You attacked innocent bystanders. Without provocation." Well, that wasn't quite true, but he didn't need to know that, not really.

If Bruce had been capable of it at the moment, he might have felt panic, or regret, or anxiety. But the drug bled all emotion from him, and he found he felt nothing. Except for the slowly creeping self-loathing inching its way through him, diffusing into every cell of his being.

"You are dangerous, Dr. Banner," said the voice with rock-hard certainty.

How could he argue with that? It was true. And no matter what he did, if he enslaved himself to SHIELD, it didn't matter. People still got hurt. Regardless of all things he was willing to do to to tame the _beast_, it was never going to be enough.

"And you do not get to consent."

That was fine with him.

* * *

Tony's plan was ingenious. Except for one issue.

"Have you considered what you're going to do _after_?" Natasha, ever the practical one, asked. "It's not exactly a subtle plan. They'll know where he went. They'll probably be here about five minutes after the alarms start going off."

Truth be told, Tony hadn't put much thought into that. "Um. What do you propose?"

"There's really only one way this can go down. You're going to have to hide him somewhere, fast. Then we'll all probably be arrested. Hope you've got some good lawyers, Stark, because this is going to get ugly."

As a matter of fact, Tony had a pretty amazing legal team. But he still wanted to know, "How ugly?"

"Possibly years worth of trials and hearings. SHIELD will be under investigation—"

Tony interrupted her. "What about the Council?"

Natasha snorted. "Yeah, no. Not a chance. Anyway, like I was saying, a lot of the shadier shit SHIELD does is going to be called into question. That could have some pretty serious repercussions. Their methods might not always be the most upright, but they're effective." Natasha paused, and added as an afterthought, "Oh, and we could go to prison. For a very long time. I doubt it'll happen, since SHIELD needs us, but they might want to make an example."

Well, Tony had kind of figured that might happen. "Is everyone okay with that?" He was.

Clint shrugged, "Like Tasha said, it's probably not going to happen."

Steve nodded. "It would be worth it. They can't just do this sort of thing to good men."

Thor doubted that there was a Midgardian prison that could hold him, so he grinned and declared, "I would like very much to see them try."

"All right! Guess we're committed! Then we're good to go."

"Yeah, except for one small problem. This will never work," Clint observed, looking at the overly-complicated diagram Tony had drawn on a whiteboard he'd pulled from God-knows-where.

"What? Of course it will," Tony reassured him.

Clint was not reassured.

"Do you want to do this tonight?" Steve asked.

Tony considered, then answered, "The sooner the better, I think." Because that word, 'lockdown', was mysterious and ominous and Tony did not like it at all.

Steve and Thor nodded. Natasha shrugged. Clint looked unsure, though. "Are you sure about—"

"If you question my hacking abilities one more time, Legolas, I am going to bleach your hair and program your phone so that the only ringtones you can ever have will be music from the Lord of the Rings."

Clint mentally beat his insecurities into submission. "All right then, tonight it is."

* * *

Being semi-conscious and semi-coherent, Bruce had decided, was worse than being completely zonked.

He was painfully aware of the passing time. With no television, no books, no entertainment at all, all he could do was think. And sleep.

He wondered if they were really going to keep him there forever.

The woman who had been visiting him earlier had indicated as much. Their conversation had been quite enlightening, actually. After establishing that Bruce no longer possessed the right to consent, the woman had gone into an exhaustive list of his crimes. In chronological order. Names, dates, monetary amounts of property damage...she went through everything he had ever destroyed, everyone who had ever gotten in the way of the Other Guy. The list stretched all the way back to his original lab where this whole thing had started.

She was building a case for why he belonged exactly where he was. And she had a pretty good one, he had to concede, and that was _before _she got into the part about him being dangerously unhinged.

All that time together, and Bruce had never gotten her name, had never even gotten a look at her, except for the shadow she threw across the room.

Part of him wondered if she hadn't been a creation of his overwrought subconscious, coming to life to castigate him. He was disturbed to find he couldn't dismiss that idea completely.

After dozing and waking several more times, Bruce decided that he didn't especially _want _to be here forever, locked up like some dangerous but forgotten lab experiment.

He thought back to a few days ago, when his biggest problem had been his mysteriously-dying cell cultures. He'd been a scientist, then, in the employ of both Tony Stark and, occasionally, SHIELD.

Now he was what, exactly? A prisoner? No. Even they had rights. He had become something less than human.

And to have become non-human so suddenly was...disconcerting.

_Although, really, was it that sudden? Have you really been human in _years_, Banner_?

Wasn't that the million dollar question? Was he even human? Did he deserve anything more than this glorified cage? Did he deserve to decide what chemicals were pumped into his body? These things were for the protection of other people. And protecting other people...that was important. Because he _was _dangerous, he was a monster, he was 'unstable,' and he attacked without provocation.

_You're not a monster, Banner._

_No, you just sometimes become one. Is that any better?_

Bruce thought not.

So was this really so bad? Was SHIELD in the wrong? If he tried not to think about the word 'forever,' about spending the rest of his life strapped to a bed (_They can't really keep you like this until you _die_, can they?_), if he removed _himself_ from the equation entirely, took his feelings out of it...it didn't seem so awful. What if they were doing this to someone else? To Loki, or to that creepy guy with the awful facial burns that Steve was always talking about. Schmidt, was it? When Bruce thought of it that way, he could see the logic that was guiding them. It was their job to do this. It was an "intervention," and that was in their _name_.

Really...he wasn't even angry about it. This was just another indignity that he would have to swallow to make sure that he wasn't making the world a more dangerous place.

There was something in his mind screaming at him that this was _not _okay, that this was something he shouldn't _have_ to swallow. That he _should_ be angry about this, furious, even. Because he didn't want this, would never have consented to this, and even if he had, the other Avengers would have put a stop to this before his self-sacrificing _idiocy _could get so far out of hand. They had taken on the mantle of watching out for him, because he couldn't or wouldn't do it himself. They would not have let him do this, even if had come up with this plan himself.

They weren't here, though, and he was, and right now his self-sacrificing idiocy was running rampant. Part of him could see that, it really could.

But it wasn't hard to ignore. The drug made him impassive, for one. More importantly, the 'truth' was that this was where he _belonged_, that SHIELD was just fulfilling their duties. That his personal thoughts on the matter were irrelevant, so his personal thoughts on the matter might as well be to agree with it.

When the alarms started going off, and the lights in the hallway outside his room started flashing, that wasn't so hard to ignore, either.

* * *

"I think this is a good time to question your hacking abilities," Clint mused, slowly taking his hand off the door handle he'd just busted. "Thought you had overridden the security system?"

The alarm and flashing lights seemed to indicate otherwise.

But Tony defended himself, "I _did_. At least, I overrode all the automatic locks on the doors and the shutter-things on the windows. We can still get out like we planned. The alarm system was just...an oversight."

"An oversight." Natasha pushed past them and opened the door. The two security guards standing uncertainly a few paces away were easily dispensed with. The medical personnel apparently weren't big on responding to security threats, because they were nowhere to be found. The floor was, otherwise, completely deserted.

That wouldn't last, though. "Come on. We've got maybe two minutes." Natasha led them down the hall and around a corner, past several glass-walled rooms, most of which were empty. She stopped in front of the last door on the right. Bruce was clearly visible inside, strapped to the bed, an IV dripping a steady stream of something into his arm.

Tony felt sick. "We have to get him out of here." He tried the door, which was, of course, locked. "What the fuck, I thought I—"

"This was locked before, Stark. Manually. SHIELD isn't _completely _incompetent, no matter how it looks sometimes. Thor?"

With Mjölnir, Thor smashed the door handle. Of surprisingly good construction, it held. The noise was deafening.

Thor hit the door again. This time, the handle bent. One more blow and the door flew open.

"So much for Hulk-proof, hey? It's not even Thor-proof," Tony observed. They piled into the room.

Clint and Thor remained near the door, watching the hallway. The others made their way over to the bed.

Tony had thought Bruce was unconscious. What else could have explained his complete lack of reaction to the blaring alarm, the flashing lights, the thundering sound at the door? So Tony was surprised to see that he wasn't unconscious. His eyes were open, though only slightly focused, staring straight up at the ceiling.

_Okay, guess he's just drugged. _Leaning over him, into his line of vision, Tony said, "Bruce."

Slowly, Bruce's eyes dragged a path ten degrees to the right. "Oh." His voice sounded rough, like his throat had been rubbed raw. Swallowing, he tried again. "Hey. What are you doing here?"

Tony did not really think that this needed an explanation. Also, they were kind of pressed for time. "We're getting you out of here." He began struggling with the restraints, but didn't make much headway—the suit wasn't exactly good for working with small, delicate buckles, and if he used too much force he was worried he might rip Bruce's arms off. "Can I get a hand here?"

Steve and Natasha had Bruce's wrists and ankles free in seconds.

But he didn't move, just let his limbs flop limply to the bed. "Jesus, Bruce, what've they got you on?"

"It's...new. Tony—"

But Tony wasn't listening, instead trying to decide if he should take the needle out of Bruce's arm. He wasn't a doctor, and didn't know what could go wrong. But, out was probably better than in, because Bruce was completely _stoned_, and that was disturbing. With a mental shrug, he went for it, pulling on the tube quickly and hoping he didn't maim Bruce irreparably. Not that he _could_.

His concerns were baseless; the needle slid out easily.

All of this had taken less than a minute.

"We still clear?" Steve called towards the pair guarding the door.

"Yeah, don't know for how long, though, hurry it up!" Clint replied.

But Tony had gotten hung up, baffled by the _other _tubes and wires. "The fuck is all this stuff?"

"Tony!" Bruce said, more insistent.

Thinking Bruce had some insight to offer on the other equipment, Tony asked, "What should I do?"

"Leave."

That wasn't anything close to what he'd been expecting. "What?"

"You should leave. I'm fine."

Tony didn't even know what to do with that. Steve and Natasha looked equally baffled. "Um...no. You're not. You're drugged and restrained, Bruce, that's not '_fine_.' I think that might be 'criminal.'"

"We've got company, guys, incoming," Clint called. The sound of a _lot of_ heavy footsteps in the hall were clear. "You want to get a move on?"

Thor walked over to the window. It was barred, and made of 'unbreakable' glass, but that didn't really matter. In five seconds, Thor had taken out most of the window, a sizeable chunk of the wall and created their exit route.

But Bruce was still insisting to Tony, "Look, just go. You can't risk all of this for me. I'm...this is good. It's good for me. I don't—" the next part seemed like it was almost impossible for him to say, but he choked it out anyway. "I don't mind. SHIELD's just trying to...to do their jobs—"

"What the _fuck, _Banner! I'm not leaving you here!" Tony was completely dumbfounded, unable to process what he was hearing.

The guards were closer, raised voices echoing in the hall.

"Guys, we need to go. Now," Steve said. Their plan hadn't included a battle with a couple hundred armed guards.

"No," Tony replied shortly. "Bruce—"

Gunfire in the hall. Clint ducked into the room. "Damn, they're _pissed_. We out of here or what?"

"No," Tony repeated, "We're not just leaving you here, this is _wrong_."

More gunfire. Clearly, the guards were waiting in the hall, planning to take them out if they stuck so much as a finger out that door.

"Christ, Tony. All of you! Just _go_. I'm not worth this—" A pair of guards, braver or stupider than the others, appeared in the doorway. Without any hesitation, they fired at the assembled Avengers. Steve dove to the front, his shield blocking the bullets. Natasha slid under him, knocking the guards to the floor and dispensing with them in much the same way she'd taken care of the first pair.

She stood. "We're out of time."

Steve nodded. "Thor, Barton, get out of here. We'll be right behind you. Meet up at the location we talked about."

The demigod swung Mjölnir, flying out what was once the window. Clint used one of his grappling arrows and slid down the side of the building.

Tony turned to Steve. "Fuck you two, I'm not leaving him here—"

"It's what he wants," Natasha said helplessly.

"_Fuck _what he wants!"

"Tony, we have to leave _now—_"

"_Please_, will you just go before someone gets hurt—" A few more shots rang out.

Tony whirled around to face Bruce. "You fucking moron. Someone _is _getting hurt. And I'm going to save your stupid ass. Maybe not right now, that got fucked that up. But I'm going to get you out of here. I promise. You're not staying here forever, Banner. If I have to take SHIELD apart brick by motherfucking brick, I'll get you out." With that, he turned around and grabbed Natasha with one arm and Steve with the other. He gave them no warning before blasting off into the night sky.

When the guards stormed the room less than five seconds later, they found only Bruce Banner, lying impassively on the bed, looking disinterestedly at the gaping hole in the wall.

He put up no struggle as he was resituated, restraints and all, into a new room.

* * *

Two weeks later, Tony got a bill for the damages to the building. He paid it quietly, with no questions or complaints.

A week after that, he went public, accusing SHIELD of holding prisoners without trial and conducting unethical medical experimentation, among a slew of other insidious activities. He had evidence, pulled from SHIELD's servers, that was so _unequivocal _that even the United States Congress could not, despite their best efforts, explain it away.

And so began the investigation of the century.

**End**

* * *

So, let me start by saying **don't hate me**. There _is_ a sequel in the works. I am, however, taking a little time to get organized before I dive into writing it.

Second, whew! I never expected to be able to write something this long, let alone _finish _it. And I never thought it would be as much fun as it was. Now I'm hooked, though, for better or worse.

Third, I'd like to send a big 'thanks' to all of my readers and reviewers, without whom I would have stopped after the third chapter or so.

Fourth, I need to send a shout-out to irite, without whom I would never have had the confidence to take this where I wanted it to go.

Finally, thanks to all of you for reading, and I hope to see you at the sequel!

Oh, and as always: Please review. They'll go a long way towards inspiration for the sequel...


	18. Cause and Effect

As it turns out, last week when I published the last chapter of JaT and said I was going to take some time before starting the sequel, I had already been finished with JaT (and thinking about the sequel) for a week. Now it's been two weeks. And I was too excited about this to wait any longer.

So here's a short preview from the first chapter of the sequel, "Cause and Effect," which will be going up a bit later.

Thanks to my beta, irite, for being supportive and giving me the confidence to go where I wanted to go with this.

I do not own the Avengers.

* * *

No one would _ever _describe Tony Stark as "patient."

In general, he did not take waiting well.

And he knew when he had started this whole thing with SHIELD (although, in his opinion, they had made the first move) that it was going to take time. Maybe even a lot of time. The federal government never really hurried with _anything_, and when it came to investigating an agency that they were reluctant to admit existed, they were going to drag their feet even more than normal.

Tony _knew _that when he went public with his accusations that SHIELD was engaging in some pretty shady business. He knew, before he stepped forward, that it would be awhile before he could put all of this behind him. He had accepted it, really he had.

He just hadn't imagined it would take _this _long.

It had been just over nine months since the story had dropped. And Tony could say, with almost complete certainty, that it had been the worst nine months of his life. Because it had been nine months of waiting. And watching. Both things that he hated.

The first night, after he'd managed to break away from the press, Tony had slipped up to his penthouse and poured himself a glass of scotch. It had been a miserably long day, full of interviews, depositions, hearings, and sworn statements. He was exhausted and pissed off and ready to drink himself into oblivion, except he had to be up at 5:00 AM to do the whole miserably long day over again. He'd been slumped over in a chair, considering the pros and cons of slaughtering his brain cells en masse despite his early morning commitments, when his phone rang.

It was Fury, of course.

"Stark. Do you _really _want to do this?"

Well, of course he didn't. This was guaranteed to be a shit show, one that was going to last for months (though he didn't know that, yet), one that would change his life massively and irrevocably (though he didn't know that, either). He didn't want to do this. But he didn't have a _choice_.

Because SHIELD and the World Security Council had stepped _way_ over the line.


End file.
